


Winter has come

by MalcolmXavier



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Crapsack World, Multiple Storylines, Ramsay is his own warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-04 11:16:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 64
Words: 81,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5332196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalcolmXavier/pseuds/MalcolmXavier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The remaining Lannisters struggle to retain power in the wake of the Purple Wedding, as Joffrey grows even more unstable.  On Braavos, a girl with a part to play in a war with an ancient evil from beyond the Wall trains to become No One.  Stannis fights for control of the North with a new ally in Jon Stark.  Whoever sits upon the Iron Throne, one thing is certain: When winter comes, all men must die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tywin

**Author's Note:**

> I was initially pretty reluctant to embark on this project given George R.R. Martin's stance on fanfiction, but I had what I'd like to think were some pretty good ideas (although I guess you'll be the judge of that) and after writing a rough drafts of a couple of chapters and I was so happy with the result that I decided to go for it. This is something of an experiment since it is my first fanfic, so I'd really appreciate any feedback! 
> 
> There was a certain level of collaboration with a few folks in terms of both bouncing ideas and helping with certain chapters. Speaking of which, I want to give a shout out a really great guy by the name of Lumine for contributing some excellent ideas and letting me incorporate them into the story. 
> 
> I'd also like to give a few "warnings." First, spoilers abound for all five books and all five seasons. There are aspects of book cannon and aspects of show cannon in this story. I generally went with whichever worked best when the two conflicted (ex: I used the show's character ages, but Aegon exists in this story). Second, this is obviously going to be a "loads and loads of characters" story. Don't worry if one of your favorites doesn't appear right away, chances are they'll show up sooner or later. 
> 
> I own nothing. I give all the credit in the world to George R.R. Martin, D&D, Bryan Cogman, Vanessa Taylor, Jane Espenson, Dave Hill, Maisie Williams, Peter Dinklage, Jack Gleeson, and everyone else who has done so much to bring this incredible world to life. I hope you have as much fun reading this story as I've been having writing it!

_How many more of these tedious affairs must I suffer through?  Two more, at least.  Once Jaime comes to his senses, he must needs marry a suitable bride.  And even if the Tyrells can't be made to see reason and consent to a marriage between Cersei and Willas, she must needs be wedded to a suitable husband before she grows barren.  As it stands, Stannis Baratheon's lies have already diminished her value considerably.  Still...a proper marriage should put those disgusting rumors to rest once and for all._

_Offering her to Prince Oberyn might be sufficient to persuade the Martells to move past whatever...differences our Houses may have had during Robert's Rebellion.  No...Myrcella has already been promised to Prince Trystane, offering Cersei as well would be far too much for a House that continues to show such hostility.  Robin Arryn may prove suitable in a few years once he has come of age._  

The Hand of the King had always hated weddings and his grandson's was no exception.   _The sensible thing would be to do away with them entirely in favor of a simple bedding ceremony.  It would serve the same purpose while eliminating the frivolous expenses that are a staple of every wedding.  It couldn't very well be any worse than this mummer's farce which has done nothing but swallow up gold dragons at a time when the crown finds itself deeply in debt._   But he was a Lannister of Casterly Rock and Lannisters did not have the luxury of counting coppers.   _Things are expected of me, extravagant displays of wealth among them.  And so I will do my duty and suffer this wedding as I have so many others.  That is what a good man does when faced with a distasteful task: his duty._  

Despite his best efforts to teach them, he could not seem to impress that fact upon any of his children.   _In time, Jaime will learn...even if it requires a sharp lesson.  He may hate me for it, but one way or another, he will learn..._  

 _Cersei has been an even greater disappointment.  She expects to be trusted with real power and responsibility when she can't even control her own son.  She will sing songs of doing one's duty when it suits her, but when she was informed that the time had come for her to be re-married, her conduct was near as bad as Tyrion's._  

_Tyrion...disappointment is far too kind a word for that misshapen, spiteful, little beast who murdered his mother to come into this world.  Tyrion has always been content to spend his days drinking and whoring and yet when given an opportunity to contribute to the future of his House by indulging his base appetites, he couldn't be bothered to put a baby in the Stark girl._

_In time, he will get her with child and secure the North.  Sooner or later, he will drink to excess as is his custom and his animal lusts will overpower his childish desire to spite me.  Once the Stark girl has given him a son, they will ride for Winterfell and he will replace Roose Bolton as Warden of the North.  Lord Bolton certainly won't be in a position to cause him any trouble. No Northman will fight for House Bolton after the Red Wedding.  Even if Lord Bolton hadn't been a participant, they won't soon forget what happens to Northmen who take up arms against House Lannister._  

_The only danger is that Tyrion might find a way – with his japes, his drinking, and his whoring – to make the Northerners forget that we are a House to be feared.  Rather than contribute to the betterment of his House, he proudly holds himself up for ridicule.  Lannisters do not act like fools!  A House that allows itself to be publicly mocked by allies and enemies alike is a House that no man fears.  And fear is all that keeps a man alive when he has as many enemies as we have in the North._

Tywin noticed that a silence had fallen upon the room and turned his head just in time to see the King approaching Tyrion with a goblet of wine in hand.  The King proceeded to dump the wine on his uncle's head before naming his uncle as his cupbearer to the delight of the crowd.  Nothing angered Tywin half so much as the sound of men laughing at a Lannister of Casterly Rock...even the lowest among them, but he held his tongue...something neither the King nor his youngest son had ever been capable of doing.   _The bloody fools deserve each other..._

Mercifully, the madness that briefly threatened to turn the proceedings into a mummer's farce had abated by the time the servants brought in the next course.   _Pigeon pie...pheasant pie...partridge pie...some sort of bird, from the looks of it._  Naturally, the King insisted upon cutting it open with his sword.  A flock of birds flew out of the pie and the crowd applauded.   _Small things amuse small minds, I suppose.  In any case, there go the only foes the boy is capable of defeating in battle._  Tywin stared at the goblet of wine in front of him, sitting untouched as it had all day.   _Mayhaps I can still make it through the day without emptying it._  

The sight of Cersei rising from her seat and drunkenly hobbling over to the King and Queen quickly disabused him of any such notions.  She appeared to be attempting to make some sort of toast judging by the fact that she had grabbed her son's goblet and was holding it in the air as he scowled at her.  She was slurring so many words that it was impossible to make out what she was saying save for "be cold in that dress" or some such non-sense.   _There is still hope for Jaime, but Tyrion and Cersei are plainly a lost cause.  Tyrion will live out his days in the barren wasteland the Starks once called their home.  If his sole contribution is to put a baby in Sansa Stark and whatever remains of Winterfell into a whorehouse, so be it.  As for Cersei, she will be sent to the Rock until such time as a suitable husband has been found.  When the time comes, she'll do her duty if I have to have her dragged to the sept kicking and screaming._

Having apparently concluded her "toast," Cersei began to drink whatever wine remained in the King's goblet as the Lord of Casterly Rock emptied his own and silently made a toast of his own.   _A man whose sole ambition in life is to serve as a glorified bodyguard, a woman who would rather don motley and act the fool than marry, and a dwarf who murdered his mother to come into this world.  My children..._ As Cersei began coughing, plainly unable to swallow without choking and making an even greater fool of herself, Tywin rose from his seat.  

"Enough of...*cough*...stop this...*cough*...madness...*cough* *cough*...the...*cough*...wine," he wheezed.  

Suddenly, Cersei fell to the ground and a panic descended upon the room as she coughed up what might have been blood.  Tywin gasped for breath and struggled to retain his composure as his throat grew tighter and tighter.  He clutched the dais, as much to keep himself from clawing open his own throat as to remain standing.   _Will die upright...*cough*...with dignity...*cough*...like a...a Lan...Lannis...*cough* *cough*...a Lan..._

By the time he began coughing up blood, he had grown too weak to hold onto the dais.   _Tyrion will...inherit_ , Tywin realized as he lay on the ground in an ever-larger pool of blood and bile, his limbs flailing about like fish out of water.   _All will...will be...undone._   He opened his mouth to curse the Gods for this cruel jape, but the only sound that emerged was a nearly inaudible moan.  His body's sharp, jerking movements gave way to small, infrequent twitches.  The pain was so great that coherent thought became impossible until it finally stopped and the world went black.  


	2. Joffrey

It was a cold and rainy day in King's Landing.  The city was silent and looked nearly as empty as Harrenhal.  The only ones in the streets were the whores and the unfortunate Gold Cloaks on duty.  

The King sat at the head of the table, silent as a grave.  Lions – _my grandnuncle and that shit of a dwarf_ – on the right, and the Roses – _the Oaf and his admiral_ – on the left.  The rest – _the eunuch, the useless old fool, and that Dornish sand rat_ – sat at the end of the table.  

Grand Maester Pycelle was still mourning the loss of the man whose table scraps he'd enjoyed for the past three decades.  Somehow his sheer instinct for survival, such as it was, had forced him to pull himself together and point out the main issues to be discussed at the council meeting: appointments to the Small Council, the war, and the Lords Declarant marching on Petyr Baelish.  

The misshapen little monster spoke first.  "My Lords, as you all know, we need a new Hand of the King. I have no wish to continue serving as Master of Coin.  My nuncle Kevan and I believe it best that I instead serve as acting Hand for my beloved nephew, the King.  I believe our new Master of Coin should be Mace Tyrell.  Having been so helpful in keeping our populace fed with his own treasury, I feel that Lord Tyrell is unquestionably the best man for the job."  

_Any man would be better for the job.  Mace Tyrell may be a buffoon, but he is a loyal buffoon.  No doubt the Imp seeks to buy off the Oaf with an important council position that will keep him puffed up and proud.  Ser Kevan is plainly the Imp's creature as well, but he's too old to do anything._  

"Right now, our most important task is to finish off the remaining Stark loyalists," the wretched creature continued.  "Once they have been dealt with, we can turn our attention to those loyal to Stannis.  I will raise another 2,000 troops to join to the Riverlands army and send them in force against the Blackwoods and Mallisters."  

_Who does that creature think he is?  How dare he give commands to the Small Council?  When the time is right, he will lose more than his nose for this display._   The King had heard enough.  "You will do no such thing, nuncle. Let me be the first to put to rest any notions you have of serving as my Hand.  I think Master of Coin suits you just fine and that's where you'll stay."  

"My Lords, as you well know, the death of my grandfather has left me without a Hand.  A King must have advisors upon whom he can thoroughly rely and few are more reliable than one's own family.  Having lost first my father and now my mother and grandfather, my family grows smaller still.  I am fortunate to be able to rely on such wise and trustworthy advisors as Grand Maester Pycelle, but he would be irreplaceable as Grand Maester.  Lord Varys is needed most in his current position and Lord Baelish is off tending to other matters.  Furthermore, as much as I treasure their wisdom, they are not family.  Sadly, it would seem my grandnuncle Kevan is too old to serve as a wartime Hand during these troubled times."   _And going soft in the head besides._

"While I have slain most of the would-be usurpers," he continued, "my traitor nuncle Stannis is still hiding with his bastard daughter at the Wall.  My nuncle Jaime has chosen to serve in the Kingsguard for life and it would appear that he needs a hand even more than I do these days."  

"How fortunate it is then that I have recently gained not only wife, but a second father.  A father who is wise, strong, and all that a Hand should be.  My Lords, I can think of better man to serve as Hand of the King than my good-father, Lord Mace Tyrell.  I trust there are no objections from the Small Council. We will need a new Master of Ships should Lord Tyrell accept my offer.  I'm sure my loyal counselors will agree that Lord Redwyne is the natural choice for the position."  

"Once they have been formally appointed by the Small Council, we will move on to another vital matter.  In this time of treason, Westeros must have a King with the power to act boldly, free to issue commands without seeking the consent of misshapen little beasts like the Imp.  My nuncle Tyrion is only be half a man, but that has made him twice as useless.  It is known that his cowardice nearly cost us the Battle of the Blackwater despite my grandfather's timely intervention.  Fortunately, my courage on the battlefield carried the day despite the best efforts of that noseless beast to lose the war.  For this reason, once my new Hand and Master of Ships have been formally appointed, I ask that the Small Council abolish the Regency by lowering the age of majority to 16.  Naturally, I will continue to heed the counsel of my trusted advisors: Grand Maester Pycelle, my grandnuncle, and Lords Tyrell, Redwyne, and Varys.  Westeros needs a King who knows that treason must never go unpunished and who has the power to see to it that it never does."  

"Once we have made these changes to the Small Council and the age of majority has been lowered, we shall move on to the matter of determining my mother and grandfather's killer.  It is clear that the Imp's wife committed the act and I swear that she shall suffer for the rest of her days, the dwarf's whims be damned.  However, we must determine just how far this conspiracy goes and soon.  Mother used to say that the Stark bitch was so stupid we'd have to execute her if our children were half as dumb as their mother.  She's too stupid to have planned this all by herself.  It's a pity mother never listened to Grand Maester Pycelle's wise counsel.  If she had, then she'd have known that a traitors' children still have traitors' blood pumping through their veins.  She couldn't help it though.  She was as weak as every other women, no matter how much she tried to hide it.  Were it not for her soft heart, I imagine my grandfather and her would still be with us. Once these matters have been seen to, I will leave the military plans, Lord Martell's dispute with the Mountain, and any other matters in your capable hands."  

When he finished speaking, not a single one of the lords of the Small Council made a sound for what seemed like years.  Finally, the Oaf of Highgarden rose from his seat.  "I accept your Grace's appointment as Hand of the King and shall serve at your pleasure.  It is truly a great honor to be given such a position by such a noble man as Joffrey Baratheon, the one true King of Westeros.  I wholeheartedly support his Grace's decision to put an end to the regency.  He has proven himself to be strong, brave, and capable in these dire times and I am confident he will lead the Seven Kingdoms to greatness once Stannis Baratheon's head is safely placed on a spike.  King Joffrey is wise beyond his years and anyone who disputes this is either blind or a halfwit.  I am certain he will be a just and able King and bring those wretched Iron-Islanders back into the fold. I for one am eager to help him do so."  

"House Tyrell formally supports the King and will do whatever it takes to see that justice is brought to those who committed such a terrible act at the wedding of not just the King, but my beloved Margery as well.  The conspirators must needs be brought to justice before they strike again!"  

"As for Stannis, is it not best to let him weaken himself in the North and for his army to fall to pieces facing Snarks, Grumpkins, and White Walkers?  I believe the Throne should not directly involve itself in this matter for the time being. Let the new Warden of the North handle him.  Should he prove unable to do so, I would then be willing to pursue action but it must be after matters in the south have been settled."  

Once the Oaf had finally finished speaking, Prince Oberyn Martell rose.  "Your Grace, my Lords," he began with a bow, "it is indeed a very unfortunate incident has brought us here.  If I may, Your Grace, I would like to offer my deepest condolences for your loss, in my name, that of my brother, and that of all of Dorne."  

"Grief has its time, but important matters have theirs too.  It is Your Grace's, and only your decision which seats on the Small Council should be filled with which men.  If you want the Rose to be your Hand then the only thing that remains to be said on my part are my sincerest congratulations to Lord Tyrell."  Oberyn smirked at Lord Tyrell before turning to face the King.  

"Your Grace, you are gifted by nature with a sharp mind, a strong body, and a vein for courageous deeds.  As such, only a fool could see your age as an impediment for your full ascent to the throne.  We in Dorne remember very well the brave King Daeron, that at the age of fourteen dared our nation's whole army.  Why should you be forced to take the throne at an older age, when it is so obvious that Your Grace is just as dowered a king?  The whole of Dorne will rejoice when Your Grace will finally take the throne.”  

A grim expression appeared upon the Dornishman's face.  "Regarding those petty lords who still dare to question Your Grace's army, I can only counsel you to allow your new Hand and the brave knights of the Reach to once again show their courage in battle.  The army of the Rose is near, it is fresh, and it is the quickest way to let your new Hand lead his army to the Tullys and Blackravens or whatever the names are of these petty Riverlords in their mud huts.  Finally, I am here today to demand justice for my sister and her children.  Their murderer runs free and I demand that he be brought to Dorne, for interrogation and to meet his fate.  I will see the Mountain, Ser Gregor Clegane, in Sunspear! Your Grace, my Lords, that will be all," he said as he sat.  

An awkward silence followed as the King picked at some dirt on his sword pommel.  One by one, the Oaf, the Admiral, the Spider, the broken old man, and the Dornishman each announced their support for the abolition of the regency.  Only the Lions dared challenge him.   _I will remember their treason._ Suddenly the King heard a chair creaking, and looked up to see the Imp standing not two feet away from him.  

"Your Grace, I can assure you that Lady Sansa did not poison my beloved sister and father."  The Imp walked across the room to the door.  "If you insist on this course of action, you may find yourself a new Master of Coin.  My Lords, I shall ride for The Rock within a fortnight.  I will leave my beloved nephew to his own devices."  Where does that wretched little monster think he's going?  


	3. Pycelle

_Nothing but a broken old man_ , Pycelle thought bitterly, knowing full well that most if not all of the room thought that was the case.  He had served the realm for forty years, under five Kings and with countless hands…and most of them were dead anyway.   _And yet the doddering old man...the lickspittle, still gets to sit on the Council._   It was a testament to his skill that he had been able to survive the game for so long and before his trip to the black cells he was inclined to think that he had won the game.   _Death was unlikely to be violent to a man so disrespected.  But the imp closed that door when he proved that living was not the same as winning the game._ He was getting slower, the Grand Maester knew that much, but that would not stop the man who had lived through such times.   _If they knew half the things I know, half the secrets I've had to keep over decades of schemes…the fires of Summerhall, the Defiance of Duskendale, the sack of Kings Landing…and the truth behind the King I serve._

"How dare he! I want him punished!" Joffrey screamed after Tyrion left the chamber.  

"A most disrespectful act, your grace," the oaf proudly declared.  

"A sign of the times, I am afraid," said the Grand Maester, playing his part while Prince Oberyn and the Spider rolled their eyes.  

_Playing my part.  If only Lord Tywin were still alive.  That man had been created by the gods to rule the Seven Kingdoms and he had done so for many years...until madness and stupidity took him away when he was need most.  I've served Aegon the Fool, Jaehaerys the Weak, Aerys the Mad, Robert the Drunk, and Joffrey the…_   He couldn't finish the sentence.  The boy was being courteous to him...acknowledging his wisdom.   _First King that I have served under to say those words, and an old man has his vanity._ The truth was that Joffrey could be a competent King, but the Grand Maester worried about who would actually teach him to become one.  The Oaf and the Imp were not to be trusted and while Ser Kevan was surely the right man for the task, he plainly wasn't going to be chosen.  

"I believe that settles most of our affairs," said Ser Kevan awkwardly.  "As Master of Laws, I certify that the Council has decided to adopt the your Grace's proposal to abolish the regency.  King Joffrey shall have absolute personal rule over the Seven Kingdoms."  

"And who is Master of what now?" asked Prince Oberyn, putting his boots on the table and yawning.  

"I am the Hand of the King," said the Oaf, growing larger and larger with pride.  "And my good Lord Redwyne is now Master of Ships."  

"And I assume the Imp is nothing," the Prince replied.  

"I believe we should still consider my nephew as Master of Coin," answered Ser Kevan. "At least until we can sort out this issue."  

"Yes, yes, very well," said the King, "but before we end this Small Council meeting, there is one more thing left to do...GUARDS!"  

_Guards?  That was most unexpected._   And to Pycelle's shock the room was suddenly filled with Gold Cloaks commanded by Ser Addam Marbrand, who carefully approached the Dornish Prince from behind to close off any potential avenues of escape.  

"Prince Oberyn Martell, I charge you with treason against the realm and I name you the murderer of both my mother and grandfather.  Ser Addam, arrest this traitor!" Joffrey explaimed, the smile of the Mad King upon his face.  

Prince Oberyn said nothing, and for a moment the Prince and the King simply stared at each other while rest of the room fell into complete and utter silence.  To his surprise, Pycelle was trembling.  He had aged too much from the young man that Aegon V did not want as his Grand Maester.   _And he certainly had good reason._  


	4. The Griffin

The sight of Volantis filled Jon Connington with nostalgia.  The obvious reason was his time in the Golden Company, but there was something else...something about the spirit of old Volantis itself.  He was not there to lose himself in such thoughts, but the city seemed to shout its Valyrian heritage at every turn of the street, in every conversation, at every single headless statue acting as a grim reminder of the lost glory of the Freehold.  The city reminded him of the Targaryens...of the mad Aerys and sweet Rhaegar.   _Will I feel the same should I ever set foot back in Griffin’s Roost?  Or Dragonstone?  Or, the gods be good, the Red Keep itself?_  He could only hope that he would be able to bring his Prince – _my King, for he is the lawful heir to Westeros_ – back to where he was born.   _No man who has been a Lord can live in exile for long without losing something on the road…_  

When he reached the camp of the Golden Company, he knew he was taking a risk.  Daenerys was on the East and she seemed to be the key to victory...until he learned that she had chosen to rule in Meereen, forcing the Free Cities to block the way to Slaver’s Bay and thus ruining yet another plan.  Since his King has ordered him to let go of the ridiculous disguises they had used for years, he was Lord Jon Connington once again, speaking to Miles Strickland and realizing to his surprise that he knew the truth about young Griff.  And it was worse, as he realized that all the other captains knew as soon as he saw them enter.   _So much for the element of surprise.  Damn the eunuch and his scheming ways!_  

“Will you read us the letter or just stand there, my Lord?” Tristan Rivers asked, Flowers and Lysono Maar nodding behind him.  

Connington took a deep breath and reached for the parchment Aegon had given him in Pentos.   _I wish Aegon had come, I wonder if this will sit well with men who have been sellswords for their whole lives._  He said the initial pleasantries, he spoke of exile and the dream of returning home, he spoke of red and black dragons and banners.  Finally, for the first time in his life, he was able to say the words he wanted to say: “With hope, Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhyonar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm.”  

“Surely you don’t expect us to just cross the Narrow Sea and go against the Iron Throne.  The Beggar King tried that, and we refused to follow him,” Strickland replied with bored skepticism.  

“Nonsense.  The loyalists who have waited for our return will rise for us.  House Baratheon is broken, Tywin Lannister is dead, and the realm is in open war.”  

“And we have more friends than most Lords would think,” Laswell Peake noted.  “These are not the times of Bittersteel or Maelys the Monstrous.”  

“The risks are too high,” Strickland protested.  

“The risk was Tywin Lannister, and he is gone,” Lysono replied.  

“I am sick and tired of running across these damned cities!  I will die in a castle with lands of my own,” shouted Marq Mandrake.  

“I’m for it as well, said Flowers, “It’s time I taught the Fossoways a lesson.”  

Each of the captains of the Golden Company drew their swords, and one by one they pledged their loyalty to Aegon Targaryen.  Strickland was last, clearly displeased, but he swore his vow all the same.   _I will cross the sea, I will see Griffin’s Roost once again, and I will put an end to the usurper’s line._  And unlike the fiery Lord who had led the army at the Battle of the Bells, he had the swords to back up that boast.


	5. Asha

"We are the Ironborn and we were once conquerors.  Our writ ran everywhere the sound of the waves was heard.  My brother would have you be content with the cold and dismal north, my niece with less still, but I shall give you Lannisport and Highgarden. I will give you Oldtown and The Arbor. You shall have the Riverlands and the Reach. We will plunder the Stormlands and the Crownlands. Dorne and the Vale of Arryn alike shall terrible at the mere thought of our ships.  I say we take it all!  I say we take Westeros,” the Crow’s Eye bellowed.  

_I say we take Westeros.  Madness.  We were crushed by the Greenlanders ten years ago, yet he believes we can just walk through the streets of Kings Landing at our pleasure._  It was absurd and yet Asha was worried all the same.  Even she had felt the power of Euron’s words and it took but one look at the captains to see that they were listening to him.  She knew they were all more than willing to name this madman as their King.  She had to say something, before it was too late.  

“Did you leave your wits in Asshai, Crow’s Eye?  Or have you simply gone soft in the head?  We can’t even hold the North.  How are we supposed to take the whole of the Seven Kingdoms?”  It was a weak attempt and she knew it.  Mad as the Crow’s Eye was, the man was no fool.  

Euron’s smile grew wider still.  “It has been done before.  Did Balon teach his little girl nothing of the ways of war?  Brother, it would seem that our dear niece has never heard of Aegon the Conqueror.”  Victarion simply scowled, as was his custom.  

“Aegon?  What has the Conqueror have to do with us?  I know as much of war as you do, Crow’s Eye.  Aegon Targaryen conquered Westeros with dragons,” she replied.  

“And so shall we.  I found a rather...unique...horn amongst the smoking ruins that were once Valyria, where no man has dared to walk but me.  It is a dragon horn, bound with bands of red gold and made of enchanted Valyrian steel.  The Dragon Lords of old sounded such horns before the Doom devoured them.  With this horn, I can bind dragons to my will.”  

_He is lying.  He thinks he can win us over with his warlocks and his tales of the East, making us believe dragons still roam Westeros._  Asha felt confident enough to laugh.  “A horn to bind goats would be of more use, Crow’s Eye.  There are no more dragons!”  

“Once again, you are wrong.  There are three and I know where to find them.  Surely that is worth a driftwood crown."  

“Euron!” shouted some dumb bastard.  

“Euron!  Euron Crow’s Eye!” shouted a second.  

“Euron!  Euron!  Euron!”  

_It can’t be.  He has to be lying.  I have to stop this madness. Victarion was silent as a grave, Aeron looked hopelessly confused, and Asha knew the Kingsmoot was truly over.  Had I lost to Victarion, the Ironfleet would have sailed back North to an uncertain battle that we’d likely lose in the end.  But I lost to the Crow’s Eye, and now the Ironborn will leave their islands to chase dragons across the bloody Sunset Sea._


	6. Stannis

Stannis Baratheon studied the loitering Watchmen from the King's Tower and ground his teeth.   _I shouldn't be here.  Saving the Watch from the Wildlings was well and good, but that was before Lord Tywin died._  The King never liked Tywin Lannister – he didn’t like many people – but he had respected him.  Tywin had been the firm hand holding back chaos, keeping the kingdom from falling apart and now he was gone.   _I must act quickly, before the moment has passed._  

But for now, that would have to wait.  He would not abandon his duty to the Watch so he grit his teeth and waited for them to finish playing through their mummer’s farce.  The rumor was that Janos Slynt was a leading candidate to the next Lord Commander; the very idea was ridiculous.   _The Watch is full of practical people who aren't stupid enough to find out what "Ours is the Fury" means in practice._   _Slynt could be outsmarted by any man with half a brain and has the charisma of a carrot besides.  No, the Watch will select some old hand from Eastwatch or the Shadow Tower to be their new Lord Commander._  The King would smile, congratulate them, and then tell them what to do.  

He would inform the Commander that the fighting men of the Wildlings were going to be let through the Wall to join his army.   _The new Lord Commander will also be told to let in as many refugees as he can stomach, to be settled in the Gift._  Settling the pacified Wildlings would deprive his enemies of manpower, increase tax revenue, and be a useful buffer against future attack.   _Madness and stupidity will not stand in the way of common sense...not while I’m King._  Melisandre had insisted that R’hllor still had some use for the so-called “King Beyond the Wall,” but the fool had refused to bend the knee.   _He made his choice...and paid for it._  As he waited for the Watch to finish assembling for their vote, Stannis considered the North.  

_Lord Bolton controls the North, but he is a turncloak who will be put in his place the moment his grip starts to slip._  I was Lord Eddard Stark's choice to succeed Robert and I will put a Stark back in Winterfell.  After that, the Northmen will surely follow me. He stole a glance at his shadow, the Red Priestess.  Already knowing what was on his mind, she smiled and said "Jon Snow is on his way as we speak."  That was good.  Ravens had already been sent to every Northern lord with a reason to dislike the Boltons or the Freys and soon they would learn that a Stark had been named Lord of Winterfell.   _They will learn that the King who did his duty for the Watch will soon do his duty for them._

Stannis stood and found himself growing ever more impatient, tired of waiting for the future he had seen in the flames. _The Lady Melisandre claims that the Others will not advance beyond the Wall so long as this Lord Bolton is slain before they attack. Very well..._  

_The Boltons will fall, I saw it.  Men were burning Bolton banners at Winterfell._  She’d shown it to him after the Imp set the Blackwater on fire.  The Red Woman had shown him that and...other things.   _A great battle in the snow.  A one-armed monster with skin as white as the moon and a blue-eyed wolf by his side.  An entire army burning in a field of fire._  

_I never asked to be chosen as the Lord of Light’s champion, but we must all do our duty when the time comes.  I never wanted the Iron Throne either, but it is mine by rights.  Men have made my kingdom bleed and they will pay for their crimes._  Westeros was crying out for a firm and just ruler to restore order.  Westeros was crying out for Stannis.  It just didn't know it yet...


	7. Jon

_Who does Winterfell belong to?_

Jon Snow could have thought of many things.  He could have thought of the Boltons or the Lannisters. He could have thought of the Lords of the North.  He could have even thought about the family he would have with Val.  But all that he could think right now was that Winterfell was not a piece of land to be traded, it was a place that belonged to someone.   _Or something..._  At first, he thought it belonged to House Stark...until he saw Ghost and his red eyes.  Red like the weirwoods.  Red like the Old Gods.  Winterfell belongs to the gods, to the old gods, and to no one else.  

He had nearly decided to go to the King's chambers to announce that he was declining his offer.   _Better not to think about how the King would taken that._  But as he approached the stairs, he could not help but think he was being too hasty.  He felt a surge of guilt, emotion and... desire.   _I want Winterfell.  I've always wanted Winterfell.  Robb, Arya, Bran and Rickon are gone and Sansa is now a Lannister by all the laws of Gods and men.  What will become of Winterfell?  Will it fall to the Lannisters?  Will it remain with the Boltons for the rest of time?  Will it become the seat of one of the Queen’s Men who would cut down the godswood?  Mayhaps I could protect the weirwoods if I were Lord of Winterfell._  The only two options seemed to be death at the hands of Janos Slynt or accepting Stannis' offer.  

_Stannis will lose if he cannot rally the Northern Lords._ As brother of the Night's Watch, he knew he should not concern himself with the issues of the rest of the realm, but even Maester Aemon almost left the Wall when House Targaryen had suffered several crippling blows.  If he was all that was left of his House...   _Can I allow House Stark to disappear?  Could I go on knowing that I ended the line of my father?  That I held my ground and did nothing to protect what he and Robb died for?  No!  I have to try!  I have to do something!_  He had no way of knowing what Robb or his father would have wanted, but he knew that they always said that there must always be a Stark in Winterfell.  

And so, Jon had his answer.  He did not like it, but at least it was an answer.  He would climb the steps to Stannis’ tower, he would request an audience with the King, and he would say what he wanted to say.  He would become the Lord of Winterfell, he would marry Val, and he would help Stannis win his throne.  But he would never convert to the Lord of Light and he would protect the weirwoods.  If he was to become Jon Stark, it would not be by betraying everything the North meant to him...everything it had meant his family.  

”I'm here to see the King,” said Jon.  

...

Nearly every man at Castle Black had come to the ceremony.  He could see the court of King Stannis led by Queen Selyse, Princess Shireen, and the freezing knights.  He could even see the some of the Wildlings that had crossed the Wall to join the King’s army.  He could also see those who had once been his brothers.   _I will miss them.  Sam, Edd, Maester Aemon..._  Maester Aemon had made his disappointment known and was absent.   _Lord Commander Mallister is disappointed to, most like._  Oddly enough, only reason that the Lord Commander had released him from his oath was that Joffrey demanded that the Night’s Watch do the same for Janos Slynt.  The Lord Commander had been forced to choose between angering two Kings and bending the rules.  In the end, he chose to yield to their demands.  Cotter Pyke would have likely told Joffrey and Stannis something quite different, but Ser Denys was the Lord Commander and so he had has been released from his oath.  

Stannis gripped Lightbringer’s pommel until one of his squires brought him the parchment.  He gave a few cold words about the Watch and about his right to sit on the Iron Throne...and then he said the words.  

“Jon Snow. I, Stannis Baratheon, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, release you from your oath to the Night’s Watch.  I hereby remove the stain of bastardy from your name.  From this day until your last day, you shall be known as Jon of House Stark, son of Lord Eddard of House Stark.”  

A few more words and it would be done.  He knew that many would not accept it and he knew that many would call him a bastard to the end of his days.  But he had a direwolf, he had the blood, and he had the North inside of him.  He was a Stark.  

“I, Stannis Baratheon, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, name you Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.  Bend the knee, Jon Snow, and rise as Lord Stark of Winterfell,” said the King.  

Jon knelt and pledged fealty to the King, reborn at last as a Stark.   _Jon Stark._   He had a duty now and he would protect the North from its enemies. He would save House Stark.


	8. Tyrion

Tyrion did not intend to remain in King’s Landing long enough to give his nephew a chance to change his mind.  He had already finished packing by the time Podrick arrived with Bronn.   _I will make arrangements to remove half of the Lannister men from King’s Landing, but the rest must needs remain here for Kevan's protection._  

“It was a mistake to do that, y’know.  Suppose’n the little cunt decided to have you killed right then and there?  What would ya do then?”  

“Die, most like.”  

“I reckon I’d be the saddest man in King’s Landing if that happened.”  

“Would you mourn my passing?”  

“No, can’t say that I would.  Thing is, if you die then there’ll be no one left to pay me.  And a right tragedy that’d be.”  

“I am touched by your concern.  Tell me, Bronn, do you think my beloved nephew will demand my head on a spike before he manages to get himself killed?  The smart money would be on yes, but then again, the boy does have a rare talent for winning the love and adoration of his subjects.  Ser Mandon is dead, so mayhaps he will send Ser Meryn this time.”  

Bronn spat at the mention of the knight’s name.  “I could slice through that one like cheese.  Course, we both know Meryn Twat ain’t what you should be worrying about.  The King’s got worse dogs than him.”  

“Or at least more dangerous ones, yes.”   _Mayhaps it was a bit rash, but I must needs take a new look at the board and the pieces.  And I will be far safer at the Rock than I am here._  Tyrion’s thoughts were interrupted when a dozen Gold Cloaks appeared and began to encircle the Lannister guardsmen accompanying him.  Among them was the Lord Commander, Humfrey Waters, a dutiful man...if not a terribly bright one.   

 “Tell your men to turn over their weapons, m’lord, and you have my word that no harm will come to you by my hand,” the Lord Commander shouted.  

“What is the meaning of this?” Tyrion asked although he feared he already knew the answer.   _I thought a fortnight would be enough time._  He had not expected his nephew to act so quickly.   _Could there be any other explanation?  First he sends a member of the Kingsguard in full view of his own army, now he sends the gold cloaks to attack me when I’m surrounded by Lannister guardsmen on the streets of the capitol.  The boy’s an idiot._  

  “M’lord, the King has decreed that you are to be taken into custody until such time –”  

“For what?  Next, I suppose you’ll be telling me I’ve been charged with killing my father and sweet sister at the Purple Wedding.”  The Lord Commander scowled at the jape.   _My mouth is going to be the death of me one of these days.  Could Joffrey be so great a fool as to believe..._

 “It will please m’lord to know that Oberyn Martell was arrested several days ago for that vile crime.  The King has attainted every member of House Martell and promised justice for your kin.”  

Tyrion and Bronn exchanged a look.   _Would that make Sansa safe?_   He had made arrangements for her after Joffrey's accusation.   _Was that simply a way to get me to quit the Small Council?_ _No...the boy is nowhere near that clever._  

“You’ve been charged with hiding the Dornishman’s accomplice...your wife,” Humfrey continued.  “You are to be kept under constant guard until such time as you provide the Stark girl’s location.  The King has stated that you are not be harmed, so long as you cooperate.”   _I imagine Ned Stark was told something similar._

The Lord Commander tensed and it became clear that there was something he was not saying.   _I like this not at all.  The man is plainly afraid, but why?_

As if in reply, Humfrey Waters and the gold cloaks under his command drew their swords.  “The King has also attainted the false knight formerly known as Ser Bronn of the Blackwater.  The man is a known cutthroat and is to be executed for conspiring with Oberyn Martell along with any men accompanying you at the time of your arrest.”  

“Oh, does my nephew believe that my household guard caused the Doom of Valyeria too?”  

“No, m’lord.  He didn’t even say they had anything to do with the Purple Wedding.  He just said that they must needs die to remind House Lannister of the wages that treason pays.”  

“This is madness,” Tyrion shouted as Bronn and Lannister guardsmen drew their swords.  

“Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t, m’lord, but orders are orders all the same.  It ain’t for the likes of me to judge the word of Kings,” Humfrey replied.  

“Bronn, put away your sword, the Lord Commander is an honorable man who can surely be made to see reason.  No one need – ”  

“Afraid I won’t be doin’ that.  You can do what ya want.  Me, I like living and I don’t trust your cunt nephew...or his pet rats,” replied Bronn, spitting at the Lord Commander.  

“Take the Imp, kill the rest,” Humfrey shouted to the gold cloaks.  

...  

By the time it was over, five Lannister guardsmen and all of the gold cloaks had been killed.  Once Bronn had pulled his sword out of Humfrey Waters’ lifeless body, he turned to face Tyrion.  “Don’t reckon we can wait a fortnight to make for that rock of yours,” he shouted.   _No, we certainly can’t..._


	9. Kevan

**Kevan**

_This never would have happened if Tywin were alive._  Whatever doubts Kevan Lannister had about the future – both his own and that his House – he was certain of that much.  He’d already been preparing himself for the day of his brother’s death.  It was coming and Kevan had feared it would be sooner rather than later, but nothing could have prepared him for what happened at the Purple Wedding.   _I thought he had years left...not days.  The Gods were indeed cruel to take you from us now...when House Lannister needed you most.  One wonders what might have been had the King drank from his goblet before his mother took it from him.  Surely if the boy died, Tywin wouldn’t have drank any wine afterward.  Would it have been so terrible if only Joffrey..._  Kevan banished the thought from his mind.  

_Someone had to teach the boy sitting upon the Iron Throne how to rule...someone with the wisdom and firm hand that his mother so plainly lacked.  Only one man could have done it and now he lies dead.  The boy was never going to be a good King and everyone knew that Tywin’s passing would mean dark days for House Lannister, but this...madness and stupidity!  The King may be a Lannister, but he rules like a Targaryen.  The Seven have plainly flipped their coin yet again.  I suppose one cannot blame him entirely, the boy did not ask to be born an abomination.  That much was his mother’s doing.  Cersei had plainly corrupted Jaime just as she had Lancel.  She had not always been this way, to be sure, but now...a vile woman unfit to carry the noblest of names.  As for Jaime, even if he hadn’t been corrupted, he’s already chosen to abandon his family.  That leaves Tyrion, although after this business with the Gold Cloaks..._

In truth, Kevan had always believed his youngest nephew had potential, but the new Lord of Casterly Rock had seen fit to spend his days drinking and whoring rather than contributing to his family’s legacy.   _Tyrion is not half so bad as Tywin believed and he has even shown traces of his father’s brilliance on occasion, but it is plain that neither he nor his brother will ever be the men House Lannister needs them to be.  And so it falls upon me to protect our House’s legacy, there is no one else left..._

Many a man had japed that Ser Kevan never had a thought his brother didn’t have first, but that was not quite true.   _Men oft prove all too eager to bring about their own doom by grasping for power before their time.  I was simply wise enough to recognize that Tywin’s gifts far exceeded my own.  Any man who would lead must needs know when to follow._  And now, much to his sorrow, the Seven had seen fit to force Kevan Lannister to step out from the lion’s shadow.  

“Forgive me, Ser,” shouted a Lannister guardsman as he burst into the room, struggling to catch his breath.  

“What has the King done now?”  Seven Hells, just once can something go wrong that isn’t the boy’s doing.   _Is that even possible anymore?_

“Ser? N-Not the King.  Grand Maester Pycelle.  He was found in his chambers with two crossbow bolts through his chest.  Lord Varys claims he’s heard whispers implicating Ser...err...Lord Commander Marbrand.  The King has summoned all members of the Small Council and as Master of...Master of Laws –”  

“That will be able,” replied Kevan, dismissing the guard with a wave of his hand as he silently cursed himself for tempting the Seven.   _Now they listen..._

... 

“Did you hear Lord Varys?  I named this Marbrand Lord Commander of the City Watch and he repays me with treason.  I want him punished,” shouted the King.   _The boy grows more unstable by the hour._  

“Your Grace,” Kevan began, “why should the Lord Commander murder Grand Maester Pycelle?  How would he benefit from–”  

“He doesn’t need a reason because he’s a traitor!  That’s what traitors do, they hatch treasons.”  

“Hear, hear,” shouted the Hand.  

_Not even the Oaf could be so great a fool.  The Tyrells have plainly made some sort of alliance with the Lord Varys.  But what could they have offered him that he didn’t already have?  Could the spider be spinning a web of his own?_  Whatever was happening – and there was more to this than a mere Tyrell power-play, of that he was certain – the Master of Laws liked it not at all.  

“Of course, Your Grace.  Yet we mustn’t act too hastily in this matter.  Mayhaps Lord Varys will share with us the proof he has uncovered of the Lord Commander’s treason.  I’m sure the evidence he’s shown you was damning enough, Your Grace, but I should like to examine it myself.”  

The King shifted in his seat and gave the Spider an uncertain look.  

“He has shown you proof of the Lord Commander’s crimes, hasn’t he?”  

“Well...no, but he said...”  The boy was plainly mulling over his words, moving toward the obvious conclusion at a snail’s pace.   _The Seven may not have seen fit to give you half the wits they gave a turnip, but just this once will you stop and think before you act, you bloody fool._  

“Lord Varys, you...you do have proof of this traitor’s crimes, don’t you?” asked the King.  

“I am the Master of Whispers, Your Grace.  I fear that I have no proof, only what songs my little birds sing.  Ser Kevan, I must say that I am touched by your loyalty to the former Lord Commander.  Of course, they say a Lannister pays his debts and Ser Marbrand has served your House well for a great many years.  And yet all the same, it is interesting that you should defend him so vigorously.  I don’t imagine that you’d ever give the King cause to doubt your own loyalty, Ser, but it is strange that as soon as the Imp fled the city to escape justice a man as loyal to House Lannister as Ser Marbrand should suddenly turn traitor.”  

“It is difficult to imagine, Your Grace,” the Spider continued, “that Ser Marbrand would’ve murdered the Grand Maester without orders from some member of the House he’d served for so long.  But who?  Your nuncle Jaime is fighting in the Riverlands and though the Imp is a traitor, he had already fled the capitol.  Tell me, Your Grace, are there any other Lannisters in King’s Landing who could have ordered Ser Marbrand to murder the Grand Maester.  I fear I am at a loss, but mayhaps you know of such a man, Your Grace.”  

“You ordered him to do it, didn’t you?” the King shouted at his Grandnuncle.  

_The boy is mad!  He doesn’t care who lives or dies, so long as he gets to put someone’s head on a spike._  Kevan gave his grandnephew the same withering stare his brother had oft used to such great effect.  The King squirmed in his seat and looked down as his grandnuncle rose from his seat and approached him. “Listen carefully, boy – ”  

“I don’t have to –”  

*SLAP*  

The Oaf of Highgarden gasped in shock.  

 “Now then, I will take what Lannsiter men remain in this city and we will leave for Casterly Rock before nightfall.  You are going to have Ser Marbrand released immediately so that he may accompany me.  When I arrive at the Rock, I will sort out this non-sense between you and Lord Tyrion as I see fit.  I will not suffer any more of this madness.  My Lords, I leave you to the mercies of your King.”  

“You can’t do that! I am – ”  

*SLAP*  

 “GO THEN,” shouted the King, breaking the silence that had engulfed the small council chamber.  “You can have that traitor you love so much.”  

“Your Grace,” Kevan replied with a bow.  

“Disgraceful,” the Oaf muttered.  

...  

_I’ve grown too old,_ Kevan thought to himself, as he looked back at King’s Landing one last time.   _Must every Lannister be driven from the capitol by a mad King?  Soon men will say that I have never done anything that my brother didn’t do first.  Tywin may’ve seen more years, but he was a younger man than I, all the same.  He was always looking towards the future...House Lannister’s future._  Try as he might, Kevan found that he could no longer hear the lion’s roar...only the bitter echo of the distant past.


	10. Mace

_Such a nasty business!  The Purple Wedding, they're calling it.  Lord Tywin had made enemies, to be sure, but to murder a man at a wedding...  What sort of monster could even dream up such a crime?  The King's enemies blame him for that business at the Twins, and then they murder the Hand of the King and a former Queen at his wedding.  The so-called Red Wedding was plainly the work of those wretched Freys.  Lord Tywin was far too honorable a man and never would've named Lord Bolton Warden of the North had he played any part in such a grisly crime.  The way King Joffrey gloated about it at his wedding was...unseemly, to be sure, but the boy is plainly a sweet and gentle creature at heart.  It is only natural for a boy his age to relish that sort of thing,_ the Hand decided.   _He'll grow out of it soon enough._  

The Lord of Highgarden had respected the late Lord Tywin ever since their first meeting, but he bore the man's daughter no such goodwill.   _I mustn't judge her too harshly, any woman with eyes would be jealous of my dear Margaery.  Cersei was once a Queen herself.  I suppose it is only natural that she was bitter about being replaced by someone younger and more beautiful.  War...marriage...you can't trust women to make these sorts of decisions.  They are incapable of putting aside their petty vanities and given to emotional outbursts besides.  Lord Tywin was a rational man.  He needed my army, but surely he also saw that my Margaery would make a far better Queen than his daughter could ever hope to be.  My daughter...the Queen_.  The thought alone filled him with pride.  

But Queen Margaery was not the only Tyrell whose fortunes had improved since the Purple Wedding.  The Lord of Highgarden was finally Hand of the King and not just any King.   _Joffrey is strong, brave, and kind. And wise beyond his years besides. All that a King should be!_

 _I see mother is already here_ , he thought to himself, smiling as much to the food as to her as he sat down at the table.  "We've finally found Lord Tywin's killer, Mother.  It appears it was the Red Viper."  

"I knew that sand demon was up to no good, especially after he injured our poor Willas.  No doubt he was plotting some sort of vile treason, but be that as it may, the Purple Wedding was not his doing," Olenna replied.  

"What do you mean? The King said –"  

"Yes, yes, Mace, we all know what the King said.  That the vile Dornishman murdered Lord Tywin, that he nearly killed Stannis Baratheon in single combat at the Blackwater, and all Lannisters are Lions.  I suppose next you'll be telling me that the King says we're being attacked by an army of snarks and grumpkins from beyond the Wall."  

"The King didn't fight Stannis in single combat?"  

"No, you bloody oaf and the Red Viper didn't kill Lord Tywin.  Cersei wasn't supposed to die at the Purple Wedding either.  The poison she drank was meant for the King."  

"But how could you possibly know that, mother?"  

"Oh well, that's all simple enough. I was the one put it in his goblet."  

For a moment, he simply stared at his mother in shock, unable to lower his fork.  Finally, he managed to ask the questions that were racing through his mind.  "I...I don't understand...you?  How?  Why?  Lord Tywin was a good man and the King is only a boy...why would..."  

"The King is a monster.  If the Gods gave you half the wits they gave a turnip, you'd have realized that long ago.  If he were a only a monster, that would've been one thing, but he is a willful monster.  The King does as he pleases.  Margaery would've had his brother wrapped around her finger within a fortnight.  As it is, we shall have to make do until another opportunity presents itself.  And if the little beast thinks I will let hurt her..."  

"But she is carrying his child.  The King would never – "  

"Mayhaps not today, but he will get worse with age.  She will never truly be safe while your beloved King lives.  He is being carefully guarded at the moment, but in time, the Lion will lower his guard."  

"He's a Stag, not a lion."  

"Of course he is," said Olenna, rolling her eyes.  "As for Lord Tywin, his death will cripple the Lannister and place the levers of power in the capitol firmly under our control.  As I said, the poison Cersei drank was meant for the King, but I must've dropped it in the wrong goblet, unless she drank her son's wine.  I suppose that would make sense since the Lannisters seem to keep everything else in the family.  Fortunately, the King has already managed to alienate both of his uncles and his grandnuncle.  He will have to rely upon the Reach for support.  With Tywin and Cersei dead, Ser Jaime in the Riverlands, and the rest of the Lannisters at Casterly Rock, there is no one left in the capitol to challenge us."  

"Err...um...yes.  The Imp stormed out of the Council chambers in front of the King and when the Gold Cloaks tried to escort him to the Red Keep, he ordered one of his cutthroats to murder the Lord Commander of the City Watch in cold blood.  And Ser Kevan...he struck the King...twice!  I was thoroughly disappointment in his conduct.  What do you think about all of this, mother?"  

"I think you have a lot of work to do, Mace, and you'd best get to it!  The King hated Tyrion more than anyone else in King's Landing, and I suspect the feeling was rather mutual.  Given the circumstances of his departure, I fear he may prove more than a mere nuisance.  He's as clever as Ser Kevan is dangerous."  

"Yes, mother."  

"Don't 'yes, mother' me.  I always knew I should've taken the rod to you as a child.  I will be leaving for Highgarden within a fortnight.  You must needs follow my instructions precisely, do you understand?"  

Mace nodded and they spent the rest of the meal discussing her plan.  As usual, he did most of his eating and she did all of the talking.


	11. Jaime

**Jaime**

“Get on with it, you son of a whore.  I don’t have the whole bloody day,” Tarly shouted at the man who had been ordered to dip some raper’s head in tar.  

_Admirable man.  Dry, humorless, and as pleasant as father on a bad day, but admirable all the same._  The past few weeks with Randyll Tarly and his men had been quite enjoyable for Jaime, as they had allowed him to forget about his father, his sister, his brother, his uncle, and his…   _No!  Not my son...the King._  To his credit, the Oaf of Highgarden had finally decided to do something and half of the Reach army was now garrisoning the Riverlands, trying to rebuild what the Lannisters had destroyed.  Every day, outlaws hung from the trees and the thieves lost their hands.  Little by little, the Riverlanders grew to respect Lord Tarly.  

_Not even Lord Blackwood showed the Reach Lord any real hostility when we treated with him.  I suppose he looked at me with more than enough hatred for the both of us.  You’d think I had just burned down his castle and hanged his wife._  All the same, Randyll Tarly had taken Harrenhal and put Vargo Hoat’s head on a spike.  Ryman Frey, heir to the Twins, had died in the battle.   _Heir to the Twins or not, we’re better off without him.  There are far too many Freys, as it is._  While at Harrenhal, they received word that the Bolton army had retaken Moat Cailin from the Iron Born and returned to the North.   _At least the Boltons appear capable of standing on their own, unlike our friends of Frey._  

...  

After lengthy negotiations, Riverrun finally surrendered.  Jaime had been sidelined by Lord Tarly, but Edmure yielded the castle after having the Rains of Castamere played to him for a few days.   _And by a horrible singer._  He did not know how the Blackfish had finally been persuaded to surrender the castle...until it became clear that he had not truly given up his cause.  When they entered Riverrun, the Blackfish was nowhere to be found.  Jaime searched every inch of the castle, but found nothing to suggest the Blackfish had ever been there.   _Seven Hells!  Of all the men who could be on the run, it had to be the Blackfish.  Edmure would have been one thing and Lady Jeyne would have been but a minor complication, but the Blackfish is a dangerous man..._  In the end, he had no choice but to confront the former Lord of Riverrun.  

“Where is he?”  

“Who?” Edmure asked, looking quite pleased with himself.  

“Do not provoke me, Ser. You might not find the oubliettes of Casterly Rock so pleasant.”  

“Oh, but I am not going to Casterly Rock.”  

“I didn’t know fish could fly, my Lord.”  

“He’ll remain in Riverrun,” said Lord Tarly, plainly bored with the conversation.  

“Riverrun?”  

“Much safer for him here than Casterly Rock, especially when the rest of your family’s situation is so delicate. He’ll be under the supervision of my men.”  

He could have snarked, he could have complained, he could have even struck the Reachlord with his golden hand, but in the end, he did nothing.  Edmure would not reveal the destination of the Blackfish.  He didn’t do much of anything except make japes at Jaime’s expense.  It was plain that there was nothing left to do except drop the matter and charge several cavalry groups with finding the fugitive.  

“Edmure Tully will remain a prisoner of House Tyrell under the supervision of four of my best men.  There is one other thing I should tell you, Ser Jaime,” said Lord Tarly, handing him a message.  “We received the bird this morning, it seems your Freys will be of even less use than they were before, if that is possible.  I don’t imagine we’ll be able to spare any men to search for the Blackfish.  I already gave the Frey host leave to ride for the Twins.”   _Seven Hells._


	12. Edwyn

_So the old bastard’s finally dead.  I suppose it’s about time._  It was strange to think that after all of these years of waiting, Walder Frey’s death brought Edwyn Frey no pleasure.   _This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen_ , he thought to himself, scowling.   _Father’s death was of no great consequence and a natural death would have been one thing, but this...  Could even Black Walder’s heart be so dark?_  He shuddered.  

The raven had simply said that the late Lord Frey died of a bad belly, but Edwyn’s spies at the Twins told a different tale.   _A bad belly, the Maester said.  Poison, I’ll wager.  A bad belly doesn’t explain a man spending his last two days on the privy shitting blood._

_Some men will claim the Gods were punishing him for the Red Wedding, aye.  Guest right or not, it was no crime to kill the Stark boy and his cunt of a mother.  They were traitors and they learned the wages that treason pays.  Men don’t truly love the Starks here.  I’ll wager they just want another excuse to spit on my House...just like they always have.  Oh, they have only the kindest of words for us when they need to cross, but the moment they’ve done so they go right back to snickering at us.  The Tullys of Riverrun always whispered that we were nothing but a bunch of inbred sons of whores.  Mayhaps, but what does that make them for losing everything they ever had to us?_  

_The Red Wedding was not murder...it was justice.  Any fool with eyes could see that.  Walder Frey didn’t die of a bad belly...and it wasn’t the bloody Seven that killed him either.  This was Black Walder’s doing, I’ll wager.  Others take that useless old fool of a Maester if he was too craven to speak the truth._ While Edwyn understood why Black Walder would murder their great grandfather, using drawing it out as he did seemed excessively cruel, even for a man like his brother.   _He couldn’t just kill the old bastard, he had to make it slow and painful._  The kinslaying hadn’t stopped with their grandfather either.  He had heard reports that Black Walder had named himself Lord of the Crossing and put most of their kin to the sword when they protested.  He spat at the thought of the man who had once given him horns.  

_The bastard thinks he’s clever and mayhaps he is, but it will do him no good._ Edwyn Frey was no fool. _I knew this day would come...I also knew that the Boltons would not let our host in the North return to the Riverlands when it did._  Unlike the late Lord Frey, the rightful Lord of the Crossing had been busy make preparations.   _Ser Walder Rivers will support my claim as will the other surviving members of our House, but they won’t be enough to retake the Twins._   _You may have a new army, Black Walder, but I have some new friends of mine own...powerful friends._

Edwyn knew that negotiating an alliance with the Greyjoys from Riverrun was a great risk.  If a single bird had been found by the Lannisters, it would have meant his head.  However, he had little choice and the Iron Islanders had proven surprisingly amiable.  Fortunately, the Lannisters never suspected a thing and even seemed happy to be rid of him when he informed Lord Tarly that he was leaving with his host to retake the Twins.   _That’s right, you golden handed cunt, snicker at us just like everyone else._  Someday he might have a chance to teach the Kingslayer the same lesson that his great-grandfather taught the Tullys at the Red Wedding, but not today.   _Today I shall continue to act the fool.  Let them go on thinking that I’m just another lickspittle like father._

_Euron Greyjoy is no fool.  He knows that the Freys of the Crossing are a House to be feared, not laughed at.  The Lannisters may be a pack of inbred fools, but these Ironborn plainly know strength when they see it.  Euron knows that when I am returned to my rightful seat in the Twins and a proper...accident befalls Emmon Frey, King Joffrey will surely name me Lord of Riverrun.  He might as well name me Lord Paramount of the Riverlands while he’s at it, but either way, it should be simple enough to deal with a copper-counter from the Vale.  Once Lords Emmon and Baelish have been disposed of, there will be no Lord left to challenge me in the Riverlands.  This so-called King Euron knows that he holds up his end of the bargain and uses his fleet to help me retake the Twins, it will go well for him when I am Lord of the Crossing.  A loyal dog will always be welcome to the scraps from my table._

Soon, he would be Lord of the Crossing, Lord of Riverrun, Lord Paramount of the Riverlands and mayhaps even Warden of the West.  It was his destiny, he could feel it in his bones.  That Black Walder’s head would be on a spike where it belonged would make the victory even sweeter.   _I’m coming for you, you black bastard.  You’d best be ready.  I’m coming with an Ironborn fleet under my command._  He didn’t need a large host to deal with the likes of Black Walder.  Taking the Twins by sea would be simple enough, especially in an ambush.   _I’ll kill you myself and then I’ll piss into your skull, you son of a whore._


	13. Joffrey

"Ser Meryn, why do the small folk despise me so?  Don't they know that I'm the King?  By what right do they judge me," asked Joffrey as he paced about his chambers restlessly.  The question had been gnawing at him ever since he learned that two traitors had been whispering about it.  Naturally, he'd had their tongues out, but he still wished to hear Ser Meryn's thoughts on the matter.  

In truth, Ser Meryn Trant was a poor substitute for the Hound.  The Hound's treason was a harsh, but necessary lesson.   _A King can never have friends.  There is no one whom he can trust.  If even the Hound could betray me, then all men are simply traitors waiting to strike.  The Imp and Ser Kevan are plainly traitors.  I’ll wager that shit of a dwarf helped Sansa Stark escape from the capitol.  I’ll sent for Ser Jaime.  When he returns to the capitol, he can prove his loyalty by bringing me their heads.  If he refuses, then I shall make do with his._  

"Sadly, true greatness is rarely appreciated in its own time, Your Grace," replied Ser Meryn.   _A poor substitute he may be, but the man plainly has twice the wits the Gods gave the Hound.  Mayhaps a King should not have friends, but does that mean all men must needs be my enemies?_  He had developed a certain fondness for Ser Meryn and even Ser Osfryd, much like that which he'd once had for the Hound.  

"Yes, but why must it be that way," asked Joffrey.  "A King is supposed to be loved by his subjects, every story and song says so.  I have been the greatest King the Seven Kingdoms have ever had and a King may do as he pleases besides.  Mother always said it was best to let the small folk starve.  I shot six or seven of them and gave the rest fresh meat.  And what do these ungrateful little monsters do?  They call me Maegor II.  Maegor the Cruel, they used to call this Maegor.  Is it cruel of a King to feed his subjects as befits their station?  Some men might call that mercy.  Surely such filth can't expect me to waste bread on them.  Is that why they hate me, Ser Meryn?  Because I won't give those...those creatures...a royal feast in their honor?"  

_There were other traitors.  Highborn Lords, disloyal counselors, my family.  Yet these traitors are not without their motives, little as their reasons matter.  What does it gain the small folk to spit in the eye of their King?  They know that I am the King. That means that all men are just things that belong to me.  Even Ser Meryn is simply a toy for me to play with until I break him, should I choose to do so.  The small folk must see that._

"Your Grace, if I may speak freely, you are not cruel but strong,” Ser Meryn replied. “Strong enough to protect the Seven Kingdoms from the likes of your nuncle Tyrion and his pet rat, Ser Kevan.  You proved yourself a greater warrior than even your father when you broke Stannis at the Battle of the Blackwater and have been the greatest King the Realm has ever seen.  The small folk are simply too soft-headed to recognize that their King is the wisest, strongest, most merciful man ever to grace Westeros.  If ever there was a King whose greatness rivaled that of the Seven themselves, then surely it is you, Your Grace."  

_Ser Meryn has the right of it, as usual.  If only the Small Council had half his wisdom.  Like a God...and why not?  I have the power of life and death over every man in the Seven Kingdoms.  This foolishness of worshiping the Seven.  That was the root of the problem with the small folk.  The time is not right.  There are still too many traitors.  They must needs be dealt with first and they will be in time.  So long as I am King, no treason shall ever go unpunished.  They shall taste the cold steel of Widows Wail and then, when they are all wearing red smiles, I will outlaw the worship of the Seven.  The small folk should pray to me for I alone hold the power of life and death over all of them.  Then they will see my greatness.  They will worship me as all men should worship their King.  But for now, I must needs tend to other matters; there are traitors everywhere._

"Your Grace, you instructed me to inform you if Tommen was caught crying.  Do you wish for me to strike him again,” asked Ser Boros Blount as he entered the room.  

"No, bring the disobedient little brat here first," answered Joffrey.  "Try not to knock him out in one blow again, I expect a good show this time.  Mayhaps after a longer lesson he'll finally learn to do as he’s bid.  Oh and remember not to kill him or else I'll have to put your head on a spike.  Hard as it may to believe, the craven whelp may yet be of some use to me."  

"As you wish, Your Grace," replied Ser Boros.   _A weaker King might've considered Ser Boros Blount, fool that he is, the sort of man who could be trusted.  I can't believe I never saw it earlier.  Ser Boros has the traitor's look.  With his bald head and flat nose.  It was in his voice too.  Ser Meryn didn't notice, but I did.  I'll deal with him later, for now there are more dangerous traitors to deal with than that fool.  But I won't forget his crime and someday Ser Boros will suffer a special punishment for committing treason while wearing a white cloak.  But what?_  Suddenly, he had the answer.   _I will burn him.  I will burn them all._

“Ser Meryn, bring me Lord Wisdom Hallyne,” said the King. “I expect I shall have need of him in the coming days.”


	14. The Spider

_To think that my head could have been on one of those spikes, one shudders at the thought._  Varys was standing in the middle of the crowd, examining at the heads that adorned entrance to the Red Keep.  Unlike Eddard Stark and his unfortunate entourage these heads were not even noble.  They were simply smallfolk who had been executed for speaking out against their supposed King.  As the number of heads grew, so did the instability in the capitol. Some of the head belonged to sparrows, others to the people of Flea Bottom.  The armies around the capital were dwindling, the number of refugees was growing, and the doors were still closed.   _How long until Joffrey finds himself unable to control the capital?_  

_If anything, Joffrey has proven too eager to plant the seeds of his own destruction.  King Aegon is has not yet taken Storm’s End, much less anything else.  The boy must needs remain on the Iron Throne until the Stormlands have fallen._ There were other complications as well.  Lord Selwyn Tarth had allowed the Targaryen army to land at Evenfall Hall and re-supply before the attack on Storm’s End, but not all of their so-called allies had proven so honorable.   _Still no word from Sunspear_ , he thought to himself with a sigh.   _I suppose one must not be too quick to assume the worst of them and with Prince Oberyn’s arrest, I would imagine they hate the Lions and Stags more than ever these days.  The Martells will declare for King Aegon in time, most like._

The Tyrells were a greater concern.  At first, he had thought it a great triumph when the Queen of Thornes had promised to support King Aegon should he prove capable of conquering the Stormlands.  At the time, he had even dared to hope that mayhaps he and Illyrio were not the only Targaryen loyalists who had been preparing for the day when a restoration would finally be possible.   _Hadn’t the Tyrells supported only the weakest of the pretenders?  Renly Baratheon, a man who trembled at the sight of his own blood and the so-called King on the Iron Throne, a monster born of incest._  His little birds quickly disabused him of that notion when they sung him songs of House Tyrell’s efforts – unsuccessful as they had been – to negotiate a better deal with Stannis Baratheon.  Apparently, the King at the Wall replied by demanding that they declare for him without any promise or suffer the same fate as Joffrey Baratheon.   _It is all too clear that our new friends in the Reach are nearly as untrustworthy as Littlefinger._  Yet Lady Olenna’s support remained as vital as ever.   _The Tyrells are among the most powerful families in the Seven Kingdoms and they have commanded the loyalty of the Riverlords ever since Lord Tarly allowed Edmure Tully to remain Lord of Riverrun in everything but name.  One wonders whether the Blackfish would have ever escaped without their help._

_What would life be without its small pleasures_ , he thought to himself as he saw a mountain of shit land on Lord Commander Janos Slynt while the gold cloaks dragged several prisoners to their deaths.   _Of all the men the boy could have brought back from the Wall..._

Lord Varys had served on the council for twenty five years, and yet it had been surprisingly easy to leave it all behind and smuggle himself out of the Red Keep once he realized Joffrey intended to have him executed.   _It would seem the boy now thinks that I helped plan the Purple Wedding.  Madness.  Not that Tywin Lannister’s death was an unwelcome development.  The bastard screams and I keep on paddling._  The hardest thing about leaving his position was the knowledge that Qyburn would be appointed the new Master of Whisperers.   _Was there ever half so vile a man?  He's near as bad as Littlefinger._  Along with Lords Tyrell and Redwyne, the boy King had named Lord Rosby as his new Master of Coin while Mathis Rowan had been appointed Master of Laws.  

_I’ve seen drunkards, madmen, imbeciles, and fools, but the new Small Council outdoes them all.  I suppose it is a sign of the times when one finds himself missing the likes of Lord Renly, Grandmaester Pycelle, and Littlefinger._  Varys turned his attention to the event he, along with half of King’s Landing, had come to watch.  

“Oberyn Martell,” Joffrey shouted, “you have been charged with treason, attempted Kingslaying, and with the murder my mother and grandfather!  You have chosen a trial for combat as is your right.  I believe you know my champion, Ser Gregor Clegane.”   _One wonders what Joffrey will do if the Mountain loses, unlikely as it may be._  

“Mayhaps once I have slain this beast of yours and proven my innocence, you will permit my paramour and I to leave this city,” shouted Oberyn.  

 “Your whore?  I’m afraid it’s too late for that; I already gave her to Qyburn.  Sadly, she was of little use, so he cracked her head open.  I’m terribly sorry, I thought you were done with her.  You really should have said something.  Mayhaps I should have given her to the Mountain instead, what you think?  He could have taken her, killed her, and then murdered all of your bastard children.”  

_Oberyn did not know?  He spent all those days in a black cell, waiting for Lady Ellaria..._  The Spider had to admit to himself that he had never seen a man look half so angry as Oberyn Martell did in that moment.  Lord Rowan gave the order with a disgusted look upon his face and the Red Viper of Dorne lunged at the Mountain in a blind rage.  It was as though he no longer cared about winning...or even whether he lived or died.  He screamed the names of Elia, Ellaria, Aegon, and Rhaenys and even managed to wound the Mountain a several times.  However, it did not take long for Prince Oberyn to make a mistake, allowing Ser Gregor to claim his spear and wound the Viper.   _A shameful end for such a man and a hollow victory for the boy King._

Ser Gregor broke the spear in half with his knee and then launched himself at his opponent, swinging his great longsword.  The Viper managed to dodge the blow and then he drew a dagger.  Ser Gregor managed to drive his sword through the side of the Viper, but not before Oberyn tore open the Mountain’s face with his dagger.  Both men screamed in pain and they fell to the ground.  To Varys’ disappointment, it was Prince Oberyn who stopped breathing first, but not before screaming the names of Elia Martell and Ellaria Sand to the whole court of King’s Landing one last time.   


	15. Petyr

_An opportunity.  That’s all it is...another opportunity born of chaos.  Only a fool would think otherwise, but then most men are fools._   Another man might have panicked after being accused of poisoning Lysa Arryn, accomplishing nothing except implicating himself in a crime he did not commit in the eyes of the Vale Lords.   _As ever, appearances are everything.  So long as I remain calm, I have nothing to fear._   _This will only serve to remind them that they have nothing to fear from me_ , Petyr thought as he forced himself not to roll his eyes.  

_Just like Jon Arryn...just like Ned Stark...just like Tywin Lannister and that wretched shit of a dwarf he sired.  None of them had anything to fear from me either.  Nothing at all..._

_Bronze Yohn, Lady Anya, and the rest of those fools on the Vale Council who sit in judgement over me are far too proud to ever permit themselves to consider the possibility that they could have anything to fear from a salt-and-pepper haired ‘copper-counter’ such as myself._   He smirked as he tried to picture how each of their heads would look on spikes.   _All in good time..._

For now, there was nothing to do but wait for the inevitable result of his trial.   _I suppose it is only natural that the fools managed to charge me with the one crime of which I am truly innocent.  I may have poisoned her husband, but I imagine sweet Lysa was poisoned by some unscrupulous Vale Lord.  I suppose I should be grateful to him for saving me the trouble._

In truth, the trial had not gone nearly as well as he had hoped.  Ser Lyn had not shown up, for one thing.   _Too busy fucking some cabin boy, most like.  I shall deal with him in good time._  Robin Arryn was absent as well.   _A hideous little beast he may be, but his fondness for me could only have helped matters.  The boy never would have allowed things to go even this far.  No doubt, that was the reason for his absence._  Nothing had gone as planned at the Purple Wedding either, for that matter.  The Queen had somehow managed to get herself killed drinking from her son’s goblet which meant there was no one to accuse the Imp of planning the murders.   _Of course, it was no less than Cersei Lannister deserved for insisting that I was too low-born to wed Lady Sansa._

_I suppose the boy’s survival represents a new opportunity.  With Tywin Lannister dead, the boy will have free reign to do as he pleases.  There is no telling how many other Lannisters he will drag down with him.  Cersei should have paid her debts like a good little Lion.  Shame the Tyrells wanted Tywin Lannister dead so badly, I would have paid good money to see the Imp choke to death on his own blood._

There was no other man living whom he hated half so much as Tyrion Lannister, not even the Spider.  It was bad enough that men had ceased calling him the cleverest man in the Seven Kingdoms when the Imp became Hand...that they never laughed at his japes the way they laughed at those the drunken, lust-filled beast was always making.  For that provocation alone, he had bribed Ser Mandon Moore to kill the son of a whore during the Battle of the Blackwater, but the fool had made a botch of it.   _At least Ser Mandon had the decency to get himself killed._  

Seeing the look of shame and self-loathing that appeared on the Imp’s face whenever he was reminded of the ghastly scar where his nose had once been, never failed to bring a smile to Lord Baelish’s face.  He would have been willing to consider that debt paid, as the Lannisters were so fond of saying, but the Imp soon committed a far great crime than making clever japes.  

_The Imp stole what is mine by rights.  Cat would have wanted me to have her if she died before...  No!  She will never truly die!  Not so long as Lady Sansa draws breath.  The Seven themselves may have conspired to keep us apart, but deep down, Cat always intended for me to have her...have her daughter.  In a better world, she would already be mine.  Cat did not truly die at the Red Wedding.  It was simply a necessary sacrifice to fulfill my destiny...our destiny._

_Robb Stark’s death wasn’t even a sacrifice._   _The boys were of always of little consequence, but her daughters..._  The thought alone made Petyr smile.   _The girls were always the important ones.  Cat would have wanted me to mold and shape them into what she should have been...what she was before her bloody father promised her to the Starks.  She was always destined to be reborn, younger and more beautiful.  And she will be, once I have remade Lady Sansa in her image.  The girls were only ones who ever mattered.  Only the daughters...only Sansa...only Cat..._

Sansa had a destiny of her own, but Catelyn Tully’s youngest daughter had been a disappointment to Lord Baelish.  He had hoped that either girl would suffice, in case one of them were to die, but it quickly became clear that this would not be the case.   _However ill-suited it might have been for the task, I could have made any necessary adjustments to Arya’s temperament, most like.  Her age would have made fixing her a fairly simple matter.  Sadly, she looked nothing like her mother.  Everything about her was wrong.  Her eyes...her hair...her face...everything.  She was a horse-faced Stark, not a Tully.  She looks nothing like her sister...nothing like my Cat._

_Pity.  If she'd had the Tully look, I would have smuggled her out of King's Landing and hidden her in the Vale when the Lannisters took over.  I might've had a suitable replacement tucked away if the day ever came when Joffrey decided to mutilate Sansa Tully's face beyond recognition._

_Fortunately, Sansa has the Tully look and a far more suitable temperament besides.  She is her mother reborn, or at least, she will be soon enough.  And she is more beautiful than Cat ever was...  Once the time is finally right, we will be wedded, I will bed her, and..._

_He forced himself to turn his mind to other matters.  There will be time enough for that once Lady Sansa has been brought to the Vale.  When I have what is rightfully mine...what would already be mine were it not for Brandon Stark, that son of whore._

_Others take the Seven, they cannot interfere with destiny, no more than men or family or duty or honor or even death itself.  Anyone who tries to interfere will die because that is what happens to people who interfere with destiny.  Ser Dontos Hollard interfered, whether he realized it or not.  The drunken fool couldn’t even stand on the day of the King’s wedding and was never there to smuggle Sansa out of the capitol.  She should be in the Vale already_ , he thought, allowing himself the smallest of frowns.   _At least the man is dead.  No one asks any questions when some drunken fool is knifed in the throat at a tavern in King’s Landing.  And why should they?_

“Lord Baelish, you have been found guilty of the murder of Lady Lysa Arryn,” said Bronze Yohn as he entered the room, his fellow Vale Lords in tow.  

“Will you confess and meet your Gods as an honest man,” asked Lord Redfoot.  

“I fear I know nothing of this crime,” Petyr replied.  “Lysa loved me more than any of you will ever know.  I want to see the head of the man who poisoned her on a spike as much as any of you.  Why should I wish for any harm to befall my dear, sweet wife?”  

“That seems simple enough, Lord Baelish,” replied Lady Wynwood. “With her death, you would become Lord Protector of the Vale until Robin comes of age.”  

“Enough.  If you continue to deny your crime, so be it. Mort, open the moon door,” shouted Bronze Yohn.  

It was plainly a bluff and a foolish one besides.   _They wouldn’t dare risk the King’s wrath by harming me_ , he realized as the moon door opened.  “No need for that,” he said as several guards began to approach him. _I need only remain calm..._

Lords and ladies alike exchanged looks of confusion as he walked right up to the edge of the moon door. _It won’t end like this, it can’t.  They will back down.  I am not a man to be undone.  Someday, they will learn that, much to their sorrow.  They will learn just as everyone else who has tried to come between Cat and I learned..._  

“Now if you’re quite through playing games, my Lords, may we finally put an end to this mummer’s farce?  Or do you wish to dishonor your –” Petyr felt a man push him and he fell.


	16. Roose

“It was Black Walder that did the deed, I’ll wager.  Aye, he poisoned Lord Walder.  My Lord, you must needs give our host leave to travel to the Twins,” the fool rambled.  

“Must I, Ser Hosteen,” asked the Warden of the North, shooting the two Freys a withering stare. Both knights broke eye-contact in a matter of seconds and began shifting about uncomfortably.  

“My Lord, I...I – ”  

“Ser Hosteen meant no offense, Lord Bolton,” Ser Aenys quickly interjected.  “Only that Black Walder is a kinslayer.  With your leave, we would put his head on a spike and return to Winterfell before Stannis has a chance to attack Winterfell.”   _Aenys Frey.  That one is well named.  Not quite so thick as his brother, but just as useless.  Stannis Baratheon has already taken half the North.  He will be here any day now with an army of Glovers, Karstarks, Mormonts, Hornwoods, Reeds, and Cerwyns.  I suppose the King at the Wall has my bastard to thank for the Cerwyns.  Had Ramsay not skinned three of them, I imagine they would have remained loyal._

“Very well, Sers,” Roose replied.  “You may take your host and ride for the Twins.  Go now, if you wish.  It is most admirable that you would brave the winter to avenge your father.  Would that all of my men had your courage.  Most Northerners would say that the two of you will be leading your entire host to certain death, but the Freys of the Crossing are plainly made of finer stuff.”  

“It is bitter and cold about Winterfell, aye,” Hosteen responded, “but the snows will surely let up once we’re half a day’s ride south.”   _This one is certainly...touched, even for a Frey._  

“Would that it were so.  I fear the snows will only grow heavier by the hour all across the North.  You appear to be growing ill, Ser Aenys.  This will not serve if you are to avenge our beloved Lord Walder.”  

“I...you said...it...it gets colder,” asked Ser Aenys. _If ever a man had lived up to his name..._

“Oh yes, this is just the beginning.  Winter is coming, as the Starks used to say.  Come now, Ser Aenys, surely a Frey of the Crossing does not fear a bit of snow.  Pity the younger Stark girl is dead.  My bastard might have might managed to make himself useful for once had I been able to wed him to her.  As it is, my Snow is of less use than the snow that surrounds the castle.  He’s even more disappointed that she’s dead than I, most like.”  I _did tell him that since Lord Baelish died before delivering a suitable replacement, he won’t inherit the Dreadfort.  It will go instead to Walda’s son.  Grunt lost his tongue for japing to Ramsay that I should name the boy Pink Walder_ , he thought to himself as his lips curled into what some men might have mistaken for a smile.   _Child lords are the bane of any house, but as my line will not survive the winter, it matters not._

Few things in this world brought the Lord of the Dreadfort any joy.  There was pleasure to be found in tormenting the Freys and it had been amusing enough to watch Jaime Lannister try to cut an overcooked steak with one hand.  Of late, he had found some pleasure in the odd noises that Walda made when he bedded her.  But the one thing that truly brought him joy – even bringing a smile to his face, if only for a moment – was the expression on Ramsay’s face when he learned that he would soon be disinherited...that his legitimization meant nothing. _I would suffer naming that creature as my heir were he in a position to put a baby in Arya Stark.  Or a girl who could pass for her.  Either would have served.  Lady Sansa is a Lannister, not a Stark and thus...unsuitable.  It matters not.  Neither Gods nor men will ever compel me to surrender the Dreadfort to the kinslayer who murdered Domeric when he is unable to contribute to my House._

_“Legitimized or not, you’re not a real Bolton.  You’re only a Snow.  And that is all you will ever be, so far as I'm concerned, unless you find a way to wed Arya Stark.  She is dead, most like.  Though given your other...amusements, mayhaps you wouldn't be averse to wedding and bedding a dead girl.  Failing that, my son by Walda will inherit my lands, titles, and incomes.  Mayhaps I shall name him Domeric.  You will remain in Hornwood where you can do him no harm until he comes of age.  Do you understand, bastard?”_  He felt his lips curl upward as he remembered the words he’d said to Ramsay the previous day.  

_The bastard left for the Dreadfort last night.  I suppose it is already too late to stop him from killing Walda.  He’ll cut the baby out of her, most like. It matters not.  The Stark line died with Robb Stark.  I will die at Winterfell and my line will not survive the winter, but so long as men remember the Red Wedding, the Bolton name will live on._

“Lord Bolton is right, brother; you do look rather pale,” said Hosteen, interrupting his thoughts.  

_Fools.  An army of Freys and all of them useless, save for Lothar.  Even he only possessed a certain low cunning, but that is more than can be said for these two.  Lord Walder was not half so great a fool as his kin, but he was little more than a bitter, old man.  A fool who spent his days obsessing over petty slights._  Roose’s lips curled upward ever so slightly at the thought of Walder Frey spending his final hours on the privy shitting blood.  

“More...more snow...winter just beginning...ill...yes...ill...forgive me, my Lord, I *cough* I do *cough* feel rather ill and I...I think I *cough* shall have to remain at Winterfell,” stammered Ser Aenys. _Mayhaps my fine friends of Frey are the reason inbreeding is frowned upon._

“Yes, yes, very good.  And you, Ser Hosteen?  Bring me this Black Walder’s head with only half the Frey host and you shall have 1,000 gold dragons upon your return.  I shall send the White Harbor men to assist you, Ser.”   _1,000 or 100,000, it matters not.  You won’t be claiming it.  The fool won’t last a week, most like._  Hosteen Frey’s eyes lit up, but Aenys was still muttering about the snow like a half-wit.   _Pity.  I hoped my bounty might entice dear Aenys to join his brother’s noble quest.  At least I shall soon be rid of one of them._

“I’ll make for the Twins today.  You can keep half of the lot here, aye.  You’ll have Black Walder’s head in a fortnight,” Hosteen exclaimed.   _I have seen bricks with twice the wits of this one._  

“Lord Bolton,” shouted one of the guards, bursting into the room.  “Stannis...Stannis is attacking.  The Umbers and the men from White Harbor...they...they opened the gates.  The Stark bastard is fighting with him too.”  

“Very well.  Ser Hosteen, you and your brother shall command the defenses.  Leave me, I have other matters that I must needs attend to.”   _If I am to die, so be it.  Today is as good a day as any.  But before I depart from this world, I shall end the Stark line.  For good this time..._  

“My Lord – ”  

“Ser Aenys, I do not recall asking for your thoughts on the matter.  Leave...now,” he said in a voice cold as ice.  Mercifully, they all left his solar.  

...    

 

The battle was brief, but that was to be expected.  The Lord of the Dreadfort sat in a tub in his solar, enjoying a leeching as men’s screams echoed through the courtyard.  Relaxing as it was to feel the bad blood being sucked out of his body, he kept a tight grip on the crossbow he was aiming at the door.  Soon, he heard two men’s voices outside and eventually one of them opened the door.  Roose fired his crossbow and the bolt went right through the man’s eye.   _The fool wasn’t even wearing a helm._  The other man entered the room, sword drawn and Lord Bolton immediately realized who he was.  

“Your Grace,” he said as his lips curled upward into the faintest of smiles when he saw the look of disgust and confusion upon Stannis Baratheon’s face.   _I suppose Southrons know little of leechings.  This one has plainly never seen one before.  I imagine his...unfamiliarity with the practice is the only reason he hasn’t stuck his sword through me yet._  

“You...you are Lord Bolton?”  

“I am.”  

“Seven Hells, are those – ”  

“Leeches, Your Grace. Yes.”  

“Very well.  Have you any last words,” asked the King, struggling to look away while still making sure that the Lord of the Dreadfort did not reload his crossbow.  

“Only two, Your Grace: I yield,” he said, tossing aside his weapon.  

“I do not accept your surrender, turncloak.”  

“Very good, Your Grace.  I am a Lord, I am unarmed, and you say I have committed treason.  Very well, I deny it.  Am I not entitled to a trial?”  

The King ground his teeth and, plainly unable to think of any other answer, finally gave the one the Lord of the Dreadfort expected.  “Yes, you...that is your right, Lord Bolton.  You will dress as befits a man of your station, is that understood?  There will be none of those wretched leeches.”  

“Thank you, Your Grace.  Once all of the bad blood has been drained, I will be happy to accommodate you.”   _One wonders whether the King at the Wall has ever had a more uncomfortable day in his life.  I don’t expect he will have any desire to remember this victory._

 “No, you will be tried now.  Not in a fortnight, not tomorrow, and not when you finish your bloody leeching.  And you will...cover yourself NOW,” snapped the King.  

“Very well, Your Grace,” Roose replied as his lips curled into a genuine smile for the second time in as many days.  “I demand a trial by combat.”   _I believe that is the last of the bad blood_ , he thought to himself, sighing loudly to the King’s visible discomfort.


	17. Jon

The Battle for Winterfell was over.  The Manderlys and the Umbers opened the gates, just as they promised.  There were few casualties of note, save for Whoresbane Umber who had been cut down by Ser Hosteen Frey.  Mors Crowfood avenged his brother even with two arrows sticking out of his back.   _Apparently Starks aren’t the only Northerners who are hard to kill._

_There will finally be a Stark in Winterfell again._  It was a great victory and yet Jon could not help but wonder if the war for the North was truly over.  Both Lord Bolton and his natural-born son had escaped from Winterfell.  Ser Robett Glover oft said that the son was even worse than the father.  In truth, he doubted the worst of Ser Robett’s tales about the man whom many Northmen had taken to calling “the Bastard of Bolton.”  

_Flaying men is a great crime and yet the Cerwyns only declared for Stannis after the Boltons flayed Lord Medger, his wife, and his brother.  Lord Bolton’s son was a raper, but there are many such beasts roaming the seven kingdoms.  Even so, hunting girls no older than Arya with hounds...  Could even a Bolton be capable of such a thing?_  Jon knew all too well how quick men were to believe the worst about a bastard.   _The man is a monster, no doubt, but the stories can’t be true.  Not all of them, at least._

Even Lord Manderly had survived the battle, although that was only due to the protection of the White Harbor men he had brought with him.   _The Lord of White Harbor has far more to fear from the King than from Roose Bolton._  Wyman Manderly had reportedly executed the Ser Davos Seaworth after agreeing to treat with him.  Stannis nearly opened the Lord’s throat the moment he laid eyes upon him.  The poor man begged for his life, his chins bobbing up and down as he insisted that he had saved the onion knight’s life.  He claimed that one of Stannis’ allies was a spy for Lord Bolton and that the Lord of the Dreadfort knew that Ser Davos had arrived in White Harbor.  In the end, it was only Jon’s intervention that had saved Lord Manderly’s neck.  The King ordered that Wyman Manderly be placed under constant guard until the onion knight had returned from White Harbor.  

“You believe this Lord Manderly?  The man says one of these Lords has conspired with Lord Bolton to carve up my onion knight,” said the King.  

“I do, Your Grace,” Jon replied.  "The Manderlys are an honorable House and a loyal one besides.  Lord Manderly had no reason to lie.  The most he could hope for if he had executed Ser Davos would be a few more days.  One of the Northern Lords is loyal to Roose – ”

“Lord Bolton.  Whatever else he may be, the man is still a Lord.”  

“Your Grace, which of the Northern Lords knew that Ser Davos was leaving for – ”  

 “Your Grace, Lord Stark, begging your pardons, but I have a gift for you,” said Ser Godry Ferring, a near-naked, shivering prisoner in tow.  “Tell ‘em who you are or I’ll unman you so fast, you won’t have time to piss yourself.”  

“I...I...Ser Aenys Frey,” said the man. _Even in Winterfell, there were two Freys.  Gods, they’re everywhere._  

“Good.  Now tell ‘em what you told me when I found you hiding in the privy,” said Ser Ferring.  

“One of your L-Lords has been playing you f-f-false.  Lord Bolton said as much, he did.  If...if I tell you Ser F-Ferring said I m-might be given mercy.  Seven Hells, it’s so c-c-cold!”  

“You say this...man is a knight, Ser Ferring,” Jon asked. 

“Hard to believe, ain’t it, my Lord?”  

“Very well.  Speak true and I shall give you mercy,” said Stannis.  

“Th-thank you, Your Grace.  You are a w-wise man, yes, a m-m-most wise man.  I...I always believed you w-were the r-r-rightful King.  It was Arnolf K-K-Karstark.  Lord B-Bolton promised him K-Karhold.  Please, Your Grace, it...it is so c-c-c-cold,” said Ser Aenys.   _I’m sure the King is grateful to have such a loyal man by his side._  

“So be it,” replied the King.  “Ser Massey, find a cell for Ser Aenys.  The coldest one that you can.  See to it that Arnolf Karstark joins him.  They will both be executed tomorrow morning.”  

 “B-b-but, you p-p-promised m-mercy,” whimpered Ser Aenys.  

 “I did.  You shall have a clean death, Ser Aenys.  It’s a far better fate than you deserve.  I’ll carry out your sentence first, so you won’t have to watch Arnolf Karstark burn.  We will speak more later, Lord Stark.  Ser Godry and I must needs search Winterfell.  There could be others hiding."  

...  

Less than half an hour later, Stannis and eight of his men returned to the courtyard with another prisoner.  The man wore black ringmail and a pink cloak spotted with what might have been blood.  The man lifted his head and for a moment he simply stared at Jon with his pale, blue eyes.  

“You must be Ned Stark’s...son. You have the look,” the man said in a voice as soft as a whisper.  “I am Lord Roose of House Bolton.”   _Lord Bolton.  He killed Robb.  It was him._  Jon felt himself shaking with rage as he struggled to keep himself from charging at the man responsible for the Red Wedding.  

“You killed Robb,” Jon shouted.  “He was your King.  You killed him!  You killed all of them!”  Lord Bolton silently stared at him for what seemed like an eternity and Jon felt himself begin to shift uncomfortably.  

  “Say something,” Jon snapped.  A few painful seconds later, Lord Bolton finally spoke.  

  “I did.  What of it?”  

“What do you mean ‘what of it?’  You murdered Robb, your King.  You killed him at his own wedding.  Were you so desperate for the scraps from Tywin Lannister’s table?”  

“I did not kill your half-brother to become Warden of the North.  I welcomed Lord Tywin’s death as much as any other Northman.”  

“Why then?”  

“Does it matter?”  

“Of course it bloody matters.  Or would you have me believe that there was no reason.”  

“Yes.”  

_He wasn’t supposed to be like this._  Jon had often imagined what he would say to Lord Bolton when Stannis retook Winterfell.  Sometimes the Lord of the Dreadfort was craven and other times Roose Bolton would be defiant, japing about how Robb died.  There were even times when he imagined the Leech Lord revealing the secret hatred he’d always had for House Stark and spending his last moments reveling in his role Robb’s defeat.  Jon had been prepared for those Lord Boltons and many others, but not for this.  It was as though the man neither loved nor hated Robb Stark...he simply didn’t care.   _He has to feel...something.  How can it have meant nothing to him?_  

“Lord Bolton has demanded a trial by combat.  He wishes to act as his own champion,” said the King.  “I thought you should know.  Whatever Lord Bolton has done to your family...whatever business you have with this man, you are not to harm him.  That is an order, Lord Stark.  The Lord of Light shall judge him soon enough.”   _A trial by combat?  No!  If he wins...  He can’t..._

  “Your Grace, I ask that you let me face Lord Bolton.”  

 “I know that this Lord Bolton has committed a great crime against your family,” the King replied, “but he is a dangerous man.  He already killed Ser Ferring.  It is too great a risk.”  

 “That is why I must needs be the one to fight him.  Another man might lose.”  

 The King ground his teeth before finally saying the words Jon hoped to hear.  “Very well, Lord Stark.  The trial will take place within the hour.  My Lords, if either of you would request any weapons or armor, now is the time.”  

  “Your Grace, might I request a moment for another leeching,” asked the Lord of the Dreadfort.  

  “No, you may not have a moment for another bloody leeching,” snapped the King, storming out of the room.  The Leech Lord’s lips curled upward ever so slightly into what might have been a smile.  

...  

The fight went on for hours.  As old as Lord Bolton was, he fought with the strength of a far younger man and moved faster than Jon would have believed possible for a man of the Leech Lord’s age.  That Roose Bolton did not wear a helm or plate armor made him faster still.  

_He cannot win,_ Jon told himself as the Lord of the Dreadfort forced him farther and farther back with each blow.  He tried to focus on his opponent, but he couldn’t stop imagining Robb lying on the ground dead at the Twins.   _I should have been there with him.  I could have saved him...somehow._  Their blades rang out over and over again.  

Twice, Lord Bolton nearly landed what would have been fatal blows.  However, the Lord of the Dreadfort eventually made a mistake and Jon buried Longclaw into the left side of the monster’s neck.  Lord Bolton fell to the ground...dead.  

Robb Stark had been avenged and yet it still felt...wrong.  Jon had not expected any remorse from the Leech Lord, but the man had died without giving the slightest hint that the Red Wedding meant anything to him.   _How could it have meant nothing?  A man doesn’t do a thing like that just because they can.  He had to have had a reason.  Didn’t he?_  

Jon Stark’s mood did not improve when he was approached by someone he kept hoping never to see again.   _The Red Woman._

  “You have won a great victory for the Lord of Light, Lord Stark.”  

 “Your Lord of Light had plans for Lord Bolton, did he?”  

“Not the Lord of Light.  The Lord of Light has his champion.  The man you killed would have become the champion of the one whose name may not be spoken.  I have seen it in the flames.  So long as the Lord of the Dreadfort is slain before the cold children attack, the Wall will stand...and there he lies.”   _Madness._  

 “Forgive me, my Lady, but it would seem you have forgotten something.”  

“Oh?  And want would that be, Lord Stark?”  

“Lord Bolton legitimized his natural-born son.  His death simply makes Ramsay Bolton the new Lord of the Dreadfort.”  

“There is but one true King, Lord Stark.  Stannis Baratheon did not grant this bastard a decree of legitimization.  It was granted by a pretender born of incest, himself a bastard.  The man you speak of is only a bastard, Jon Stark.  A Snow, not a Bolton.  He will never be Lord of the Dreadfort.  Bastards may only rise so far in this world.”   _Must she keep using that word?_

“My Lady, I fear I have other matters that I must needs attend to.”  

“The battle is won, but the war is not over.  Look to your sins, Lord Stark.  The night is dark and full of terrors.”


	18. Aegon

_A poor substitute for the Iron Throne_ , Aegon thought to himself as he sat on a crudely constructed stone throne in the great hall of Storm's End, surrounded by an army of sell-swords, highborn Lords, knights, and men-at-arms.   _It will do for now, I suppose.  All of their eyes are on me.  They know that I am their King.  And now that the Stormlords have bent the knee, the rest of Westeros will know it too._

_I haven't even been crowned and Jon has already decided that I am to marry Prince Doran's daughter.  To hear him tell it, I have little choice in the matter.  It is the only way that House Martell will declare for me and that means that it is the only way that Dorne will support my claim.  I thought being King meant I could do whatever I want!  Surely King should have some say in who he is to marry_ , Aegon thought to himself, frowning.   _I suppose a King could certainly do worse than a Dornish Princess.  I hope she is pretty, at least._

Everything had gone as planned since he landed Evenfall Hall, the castle of the King’s new Master of Ships.   _Prince Rhaegar reborn, he called me.  Lord Selwyn Tarth is an honorable man and loyal besides._ The voices were a concern, one that the King knew that he couldn’t share with anyone, not even Lord Connington.   _They are only whispers.  So long as no one else can hear them, that is all they need ever be.  Best not to dwell on them._

"My Lords,” shouted the King.  "We have captured Griffin's Roost and taken Storm's End, but those few castles are not why we sailed the Narrow Sea.  We sailed across the Narrow Sea to reclaim to the Iron Throne!”  

A servant brought a small wooden box to Ser Rolly, who carried it up to the King and knelt in front of him, presenting the box.  Aegon reached forward, opened the box, and removed the crown.  It was made of copper, to represent the fire of House Targaryen.  He placed the crown upon his head and this set the crowd into a frenzy.  It took Ser Rolly several minutes to restore order.  

"There are several offices that I am told must needs be filled," said Aegon.   _Dull and tedious as such matters are, I am a King now and a Targaryen besides. I was made to rule. Things are expected of me._

"Ser Franklyn Flowers, kneel before your King."  

Ser Flowers stepped forward and knelt in front of Aegon, who drew his sword from its sheath.  Flowers recited the Kingsguard oath and the King lightly touched the knight with his sword.  

"Rise, Ser Franklyn Fossoway, knight of the Kingsguard.  I hereby remove the stain of bastardy from your name and legitimize you as Ser Franklyn of House Fossoway."  Aegon draped a white cloak over Fossoway's shoulders and handed him a white shield.  

"Lord Connington, come forward," Aegon said as Ser Franklyn stepped to the side.  The once and future Lord of Griffin’s Roost knelt before the King.   _You will hate me for this, but it must be done._  "Lord Jon of House Connington, I name you Lord of Griffin’s Roost and..."   _Forgive me, but it must be done...for the good of the Realm.  It must be you!_  "...and Hand of the King."   _The rest of the appointments will have to wait.  A King can only waste so much of his time._

"And now, onward to King's Landing," shouted Aegon.


	19. No One

_I am No One._  She still remembered many things from her time in Westeros: her pack, the Red Wedding, the Hound, Joffrey telling Ser Ilyn to cut off her father’s head...but those were Arya’s memories.   _Arya of House Stark is dead.  I am No One._

After a great deal of training, even being blinded for a time, the Kindly Man had finally relented and told her that he would consider allowing her to become a faceless man.  

“A girl must know that to become a faceless man is not a small thing,” said the Kindly Man.  

“A girl knows this thing,” No One replied.  

 “A girl knows nothing.”  

“I knew that you were the one hitting me when I was blind.”  

“A girl has said.  But she is not yet ready to become no one.”   _Jaqen told me that I could offer Joffrey, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, the Mountain, and the rest to the Many Faced God._

 “But I am ready, you said – ”  

“A man said he would hear what a girl had to say.  A man has done this thing.”  

“That’s not fair, I –”  

“Who are you?”  

“A girl is no one.”   _I am No One, not stupid Arya Stark._  She had been Blind Beth, the Cat of the Canals, Mercy, and others, but never Arya of House Stark.   _I am No One._  The Kindly Man plainly wanted to hear something else before he would allow her to become a faceless man.   _What does he want me to say_ , she wondered, biting her lip.  

  *SMACK*  

“A girl lies,” said the Kindly Man as No One winced and forced herself not to bite her lip a second time.  “If a girl is no one then why does she bite her lip like Arya of House Stark?”  

“Please, I want to be a faceless man.  I’m not lying, I promise.”  

“A girl does not know what she wants.  She will leave the House of Black and White, I think.  This is a place for no one and a girl is still someone.”   _They can’t make me leave, I have nowhere else to go._  No One bit her lip to keep from crying.   _I will not cry.  I am a direwolf.  Direwolves don’t cry!_  This time, she dodged the Kindly Man’s blow.  

“A girl has everywhere else to go,” said the Kindly Man, as if in reply.  “Mayhaps a she would be a chambermaid for a highborn lady or a kitchen wench in the castle of a powerful Lord from the Westerlands.  A girl need only ask.  No one would ever bother her again as long as she remained quiet as a mouse for the rest of her days.”   _The Westerlands?  I won’t serve the Lannisters!  Never!  They won’t make me a mouse again.  I won’t let them!_

“No! I won’t,” she replied, shaking her head.  No One braced herself for another blow and was surprised when the Kindly Man did not try to strike her.  

 “A girl would be noticed?  Very well.  Mayhaps a girl would prefer to be a courtesan in the Sea Lord’s palace.  She could spend her days picking flowers while men sing songs of her beauty and gallant knights fight for the right to claim her maidenhead.”   _No!  No!  No!  No!  No!  It was bad enough having to act like a stupid highborn lady.  And no one would ever fight over me anyway.  Maybe Sansa, but not me._

“I don’t want to pick any stupid flowers.  Please, when can I become a faceless man?”  

“A girl will never be ready.  No amount of training will make a girl no one.  She will always be someone, I think.  Unless...”  

“Unless what?”  

 “A man misspoke.  A girl should forget this thing.”  

“Now you’re lying,” No One replied.  

“If a girl would truly become no one, she must drink the bitter wine.  When she awakens the next morning, she will be a faceless man.  She will be nothing and she will remember nothing.  All that she ever was, all that she is, and all that she would ever be will be gone forever if a girl does this thing.  A girl may keep her needle if she wishes, but she will find that she no longer has any use for it, I think.”  

 _How did he know that I kept Needle?_  This time, No One managed to stop herself from biting her lip.  

“A girl will not even remember her needle if she does this thing.  Does she understand?”  

  “A girl understands.”   _I’ll drink their stupid bitter wine, but I won’t forget about Needle.  The Many Faced God can have everything else, but not that.  Needle was the North.  Needle was Winterfell.  Needle was my...Arya’s pack_ , No One thought to herself sadly.   _They will not take Needle away from me.  Never!_

“A girl understands nothing, but a man will not stop a girl from doing this thing.  A girl will become no one once she drinks the bitter wine.  Is a girl certain that she is ready,” asked the Kindly Man.  

“I...a girl would drink the bitter wine today.”  

 “A girl will do no such thing.  Before one may drink the bitter wine, they must first offer a name to –”  

 “But I already –”  

*SMACK*  

 “A girl will be silent.  Anyone who would drink the bitter wine must first give another the gift of the Many Faced God that day without using a name.  A girl must offer a name to him of the many faces as no one before she may drink the bitter wine and become a faceless man.  As it happens, a man has a new assignment for a girl.  A ship will arrive in Braavos within a fortnight.  There is a man on this ship.  When this man arrives, a girl will give him the gift of the Many Faced God.  She will do this thing without using a name and the Many Faced God shall have another supplicant.  If a girl would do this thing, she must do as she is told,” said the Kindly Man, handing her a small vial of poison.  

  “A girl will obey.  Who is this man?”  

 “The Hand of the King.”  


	20. Qyburn

Qyburn had enjoyed nearly every day that he had spent in King’s Landing.  He had served many masters over the years...anyone who would allow him to indulge his curiosity.  He had resented each of them for different reasons, but would gladly suffer them all so long as they allowed him to perform his experiments and none were half so bad as the maesters.  

_The Goat was the worst of them,_ he thought to himself, frowning as he slowly made his way to through the Red Keep with Ser Osfryd and the King’s...guest.   _The fool cut off men’s limbs and simply tossed them aside as though they had no value.  Freshly cut arms and legs from men, women, and children of all ages...such wastefulness is unseemly._

Lord Bolton had been a bitter disappointment.  At first, he seemed to be exactly the kind of master that Qyburn had always hoped to serve: an intelligent man who shared his scientific curiosity.   _He spoke of bringing me with him to the Dreadfort, letting me experiment on his castle’s maester, and even watched my work with great interest...at first._  It had almost been flattering when Lord Bolton told him to cut prisoners open in different places so that they could study the inner-workings of men’s bodies together.   _He grew bored with my work after the first few prisoners were cut open.  In the end, I imagine he only permitted me to continue my experiments because he didn’t care enough to order me to stop_ , Qyburn thought to himself sadly.  

_Cersei Lannister allowed me to perform whatever experiments I wished in that fool of a maester’s laboratory, but I fear she never understood the importance of my work.  Some days, I worry that she may have dropped her son on the head when he was young._

_This Littlefinger whom the King speaks of so often was plainly a fool.  I suppose it is of little consequence.  To hear the Vale Lords tell it, Mockingbirds can’t fly._  From what Qyburn had been able to piece together, the King had been quite fond of Lord Baelish ever since the man gave him the idea to have Ned Stark executed rather than sent to the Wall.   _All the same, to hire a faceless man..._  Apparently Joffrey had once heard Littlefinger speaking of how faceless men could kill anyone and when Lord Harys Swyft reported that they were willing to kill Stannis Baratheon’s Hand, Lord Axell Florent, in exchange for the baby boy the Queen had been carrying, the King gladly agreed to their terms.   _I suppose the price for killing a King was too high.  There have been whispers that Lord Axell is sailing to Braavos, but it would have been wiser to simply intercept the ship.  I fear he will have to pay them now; poor Walder Baratheon was born two days ago.  The King had insisted that the baby be named after the man responsible for the Red Wedding,_ Qyburn thought to himself with a sigh.  

_Hiring faceless men, driving away the rest of his family...each day brings with it a new folly.  Worse, the boy burns perfectly good bodies.  True, he gives me enough to continue my work, but not half so many as he used to provide._

_Even if the boy is...touched, I suppose I should be grateful for all that he has done for me._  The King had allowed Qyburn to perform any experiments he pleased and planned to make him Grandmaester until the Citadel insisted on choosing Pycelle’s successor itself.  The Red Keep’s open corridors were the only thing that truly worried him, as he knew all too well that he wouldn’t live long if anyone should discover what he was creating for the King.   _The Mountain is a most remarkable specimen..._

Getting rid of the Dornishmen had already caused an uproar and the screams of Ellaria Sand even reached the King’s chambers.  By all accounts, the boy had never had a more pleasant night.   _She was brave enough, at first.  But once she had seen me work on a few of her companions..._

“Here we are; these will be yer chambers, Grandmaester,” said Ser Osfryd.   _Or was it Ser Osmund?_

He, along with one of the Kettleblacks, was escorting Grandmaester Vaellyn – _that stern, old bastard_ – to the room that had once belonged to Pycelle.  The Grandmaester had insisted in being allowed to search through all of Pycelle’s old archives.  Qyburn did not know what the man hoped to find...only that it couldn’t be good for the King.  Another man might have realized that Joffrey was not one to be challenged, but Vaellyn had never cared about what others thought about him.  Ser Osfryd opened the door and the old fool approached the large box which had been placed in the middle of the room.  

“What is this,” Vaellyn asked.  

“I fear it is your coffin, old friend,” Qyburn replied.  

Before the Grandmaester could turn around, Ser Osfryd – _or was it Ser Osney_ – had pierced him through the chest with his sword.  Qyburn looked through the window and saw that it was empty, so he helped Ser Os – Ser Kettleblack – put the body into the box and dump it into the street as the King had instructed. _What a waste of a body.  I seldom get a chance to experiment on old men._

...  

Qyburn was surprised by how much he had enjoyed serving as Master of Whisperers.  For all of the stories he’d heard about Lord Varys, the eternal Master of Whisperers, the man been a mummer’s farce...his reputation little more than a myth the Spider had conjured to confuse and scare his enemies.  Qyburn already had many of the man’s informants in his pocket.  There were other joys to be found in his new position: spreading tales that the man claiming to be Aegon Targaryen was truly the bastard son of Oberyn Martell and sodomite lover of Lord Connington, working to turn the Mountain into the perfect fighter, and uncovering the perversions of the pious court of King Joffrey.  

“Lord Qyburn, has our friend been shown the hospitality of the Red Keep,” asked the King.  

“The matter with Grandmaester Vaellyn has been dealt with as you commanded, Your Grace.”  

“Good.  Mayhaps Citadel won’t send us any more of those bumbling fools.”  

“Maesters will be maesters, Your Grace,” Qyburn replied.  

“I may have to burn them all once I’ve slain this so-called dragon.  I hope to face him in single combat.  I will give him a red smile like the one my father gave Rhaegar.”  

“It would be most fitting, Your Grace.”  

Suddenly, there was a scream and they heard the sound of swords clanging in the Red Keep.  Ser Meryn Trant, Lord Commander Slynt, and a group of Gold Cloaks burst into the room.  

“Your Grace, the Tyrells have betrayed us!  They’ve slain Ser Boros and Ser Osmund!  The Red Keep is under siege,” shouted Lord Slynt.  

“Where is that fat traitor?  Kill them all, I command it,” the King screamed.  

“Lord Tyrell is in the Tower of the Hand with the Queen.  We must evacuate, your grace, there are too many, Your Grace,” Ser Meryn replied. 

“You say Mace Tyrell and that whore are in the Tower of the Hand,” asked the King with a smile.  

“Yes, so far as I know, Your Grace.”  

“Very well, Ser Meryn.  King’s Landing has become a nest of traitors.  I think it’s time we reminded this city that so long as I am King, treason will never go unpunished.  Lord Qyburn, give Lord Wisdom Hallyne the signal.  Burn them!  Burn them all!”  

“Understood,Your Grace,” the Master of Whisperers replied.  

Qyburn moved as quickly as he could, without even bothering to think of the King or the approaching Tyrell troops.  Once he reached the walls, he commanded an archer to fire a single flaming arrow towards Visenya’s Hill and then raced to one of the secret passages in the dungeons of the Red Keep.   _I may not have time to save Ser Robert, but I won’t be the one going down in flames today._


	21. Jaime

“Is that smoke,” Jaime asked, unsure of what he saw at the horizon.   _I don’t suppose I should expect an answer from my...traveling companion_ , he thought to himself glancing at Ser Ilyn.   _The man may be the perfect sparing partner for me, but he is near as poor company as Brienne of Tarth._

Ser Ilyn nodded his head. _Was that an answer?  Mayhaps there is hope for him yet._ Jaime felt himself tense as the smoke kept rising and he ordered his men to ride towards the capitol as quickly as they could.  

He had left Riverrun once he realized that Lord Tarly was not going to let him do anything important, but even then, the choice between Casterly Rock and King’s Landing had been a difficult one.  In the end, he was still the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and his duty was in the capitol, standing beside his...King.  Joffrey made the decision considerably easier by calling him back to the capitol.  The smoke rose higher and higher the closer they got to King’s Landing. Jaime’s feelings of unease turned to to sheer panic once he got a clearer view of the capitol.   _It can’t be..._

“Seven Hells. It’s not possible. Not him...”  

“Who,” asked Ser Marbrand.  

“Aerys,” Jaime replied before racing ahead.  

Men called him the Kingslayer for saving the city and everyone in it from the Mad King twenty years ago.  Now Jaime could see King’s Landing consumed by green flames that could only be that damned wildfire.   _Seven hells, Joffrey, what have you done…_

When he finally reached the Tyrell camp at the outskirts of the city, Jaime saw that it was filled with horribly burned refugees and a few confused, scattered troops.  He wanted to curse, he wanted to scream, he wanted to take his sword and do something, yet all he could do was stay silent as he looked for someone who could tell him what he already knew and didn’t want to hear.  It was then that he saw one of the Gold Cloaks lying in the mud outside of a tent with half his right arm gone and knelt beside the man.  

“You!  What happened here?”  

“Ser Jaime…it...it’s you?  You must run...you –”  

“Who did this?”  

“The Tyrells betrayed the King.  They s-stormed the Red Keep and then the city started to burn and...and...please mercy.  PLEASE!”  Jaime pulled a dagger out from the man’s belt and drove it into the poor bastard’s heart.  

The fire had reached the city walls and prevented anyone else from escaping the city.  There had been no sign of Ser Aurane Waters or Ser Loras Tyrell, but the rest of the Kingsguard were all believed to have died shortly after the King lit the city on fire. _Joffrey and Tommen are dead too, most like._  The Oaf, the Queen, her son, and Lord Redwyne had all cooked to death inside the Tower of the Hand.  The King was believed to have ordered a cache of wildfire to be place directly under the building.  Lord Mathis Rowan appeared to be in charge.  Jaime knew that he should avoid the man – Lord Rowan had been the Oaf’s creature – but he found himself possessed by a desire to gather as much information as he could.  

“You shouldn’t be here, Kingslayer,” Lord Rowan snapped the moment he saw Jaime.   _Even now, he calls me that.  Lord Rowan must be relieved.  There were no Kingslayers with Joffrey when he decided to burn down King’s Landing._

“My Lord, I almost get the feeling that you’re not happy to see me.”   _They never are_ , he thought to himself bitterly.  

“It’s not me you should be worried about,” Lord Rowan replied.  “The Tyrells tried to overthrow King Aerys III and put his son on the Iron Throne.  They’re all dead now.  The Mad King too, most like.  I could take you prisoner like Janos Slynt and send you back to Highgarden, but after seeing how Joffrey Lannister paid his debts, I don’t plan to make any more enemies in the Westerlands.  At least not until I figure out which poor bastard is in charge here.  Damned if I’m going to let myself get stuck cleaning up this mess.”  

“I fear you’ve made a mistake, my Lord.  I believe my brother sent Janos Slynt to the Wall.”  

 “Aye, the Imp did.  Even a Lannister is right every now and then.  Your son brought him back to King’s Landing and re-appointed the dumb bastard Lord Commander of the City Watch.  The boy said he hoped the fool’s loyalty would set an example for the rest of the Gold Cloaks.  I'm going to have Lord Slynt sent right back to the Wall where he belongs.”   _My son...  Seven Hells, can’t you at least pretend not to believe it._

After learning what little more he could from Lord Rowan, Jaime left the Lord’s tent and did his best to avoid the Tyrell guards, searching for anything that could provide some glimmer of hope.  And then he saw him.  

“Uncle Jaime,” Tommen shouted.  

Without giving any thought to what the nearby Tyrell men might think, Jaime raced to help his son.  The boy was dressed as a peasant with Ser Balon Swann posing as his father, having traded his white cloak for some torn rags.  Ser Balon had managed to smuggle Tommen out of the city after hearing that the King planned to burn the King’s Landing to the ground.  They had escaped just before city turned into a green hell.  

The three of them made their way back to the Lannister guardsmen that had travelled with Jaime, all of them shocked at the sight of King’s Landing.  Ser Ilyn looked at him, as if expecting orders.  

“The Tyrells have betrayed the crown and they have paid the price for it.  The King has paid for his crimes too, most like.  We ride for Casterly Rock.”  

_Father, Cersei, and Joffrey may be dead, but Tommen and Myrcella are still alive._  He knew that Tyrion and his nuncle would fight for them as well.  With Sansa gone and Arya dead, Cersei’s children were the only way that he could salvage what little remained of his honor.  In the end, Aerys Targaryen had his revenge.   _The Mad King did not become a dragon when he died...he became a Lion...my son._


	22. Loras

_Seven Hells, how could it have all gone so wrong?_  Loras was scared, angry, and desperately struggling to hold onto his sanity...or whatever was left of it.  Mace Tyrell’s youngest son had been informed of his grandmother’s plan at the last moment by Lord Rowan and raced into the city to search for his father and sister.  He couldn’t allow Joffrey’s men to reach the Tower of the Hand.  Loras knew better than most just how cruel the King could be to those who angered him.   _Joffrey had been burning men alive for days, but even so, how could anyone be so...so..._

At first everything seemed to be going as planned: the Tyrell troops quickly captured a number of powerful Lords and surrounded the Red Keep.  They faced almost no resistance from the Gold Cloaks.  Victory was within his family’s grasp...until smoke rose from Visenya’s Hill, the skies began to shine, and the city burst into green flames.  

The whole city turned to ash right before his very eyes.  It was as though the Knight of Flowers had been dragged to the deepest of the seven hells.  Soldiers, men, women, and children all burst into flames right in front of him.  The gates collapsed and even the Red Keep.   _The Seven will curse Joffrey for this, Others take him.  The Mad King, the Kingslayer, Stannis...none of them would have ever dreamed of doing something half so terrible.  Father, Margaery, and Walder are alive.  They had to have made it out.  They can’t be dead!  I won’t believe it!  I just have to find a way out of this...this...hell and I’ll find them.  They...they’re probably already at Lord Rowan’s camp.  They have to be!_    

One by one, the city claimed each of his men.  Houses fell on some of them, others burst into green flames, and the rest were torn limb from limb by smallfolk.   _They blame me for this_ , he realized.   _They see my white cloak and think that I still serve that monster.  How can they think I could do such a thing?_

He was alone when he finally managed to reach the area near the docks, where Ser Aurane’s ship rested on the water, refusing to sail away from Blackwater Bay for some reason.  

“COME HERE, TRAITOR,” a voice screamed.  

_It's him.  Seven Hells, it's him._  Joffrey was covered in blood, yet it was plain that none of it was his.  The monster had somehow made it to the dock unharmed and was he holding Widow’s Wail in his right hand.  He looked like some savage creature from the deepest of the Seven Hells.  For a moment Loras forgot that the beast standing before him was even human, much less that it was supposed to be his King.  

“How could you?  You...you...monster,” shouted Loras.  

“A strong King acts boldly and treason must never go unpunished.  Kneel, traitor.  Kneel and I’ll send you to join your father.  Widow’s Wail should slice right through your neck.  In the end, they were all traitors.  They all deserved to burn.  Have you gone soft in the head, Ser?  I AM YOUR KING,” Joffrey roared, “and I ordered you to kneel!”  

 “Father is d-dead?  And Margaery?  What of her?”  

“Who cares about that whore?  I gave you an order!  Kneel before your King.”  

_Whore?  A whore?_  The Knight of Flowers could not control himself any longer and he charged at Joffrey.  Within seconds, the King had been disarmed and was lying on the ground with blood seeping out from his throat.  Joffrey gargled and began to cough up whatever blood hadn’t already poured out of the wound.   _There is so much blood just like...like…like Renly._  Joffrey’s body twitched for a few more moments and then he finally stopped moving.   _The King was dead.  He’s dead.  The King is dead and I killed him.  I am a...a...a...a Kingslayer._

“KINGSLAYER,” he screamed over and over again as he ran towards Ser Aurane’s ship, no longer thinking as a sane man would.  More and more houses were burning.  Hundreds of people cried out for help before being devoured by the green flames that licked the skies.  Ser Loras ignored their screams and kept running, crying bitter tears as he realized that most of the ashes covering his face had probably been people less than an hour ago.  

He finally reached Ser Waters’ ship, the King Joffrey.  Loras forced himself to stop running when he saw the knight standing on the stairs leading to the deck – along with Qyburn, much to his surprise – accompanied by several soldiers who were aiming their crossbows at him.  

“Ser Loras,” Waters shouted.  "Good to see that one of my Kingsguard brothers survived.  Where is the King?  He left the ship as soon as we saw you heading our way.”  

“The King…I…I...”  

“Yes, you, Ser Loras.  I could have sworn that I heard someone shouting ‘Kingslayer’ a moment ago.”  

“Please, he...he burned down the city.  I...I...I couldn’t!  Ser, please, you don’t understand!”  

“Wrong answer, Kingslayer,” Ser Aurane replied.  

The knight motioned to his men and they all fired at once.  Six of the seven arrows hit the Knight of Flowers and threw him to the ground.  He lay in a pool of his own blood as the King Joffrey sailed away from the green hell that was once King’s Landing.  Loras wept one last time for everyone he had lost.  He wanted to think of Renly, but all he could see was Joffrey's blood-soaked face as the world went dark.


	23. No One

The Hand of the King was double-chined, fat, and had the largest ears that No One had ever seen.  But she couldn’t give the Many Faced God his due yet.  She had to study the man, learn all there was to know about him, find out why he deserved the gift.  It was not for a faceless man to judge those whom they would give the gift, but No One always needed to find a reason first.   _Not every man deserves to be offered to the Many Faced God.  And I’m not a faceless man yet...not really.  Not until they let me drink their stupid bitter wine._  She watched as her target spoke with a Braavosi whom No One had never seen before.  

“Winning the North was simple enough.  We had faith in King Stannis and the Lord of Light rewarded us by dealing crushing blows to the Wildlings and the Boltons.  I imagine the King will have a Wildling princess waiting for me upon my return.  A girl as beautiful as she is nubile, most like,” said Lord Axell.  

“Mayhaps,” replied the Braavosi, plainly trying to conceal his disgust with the Hand.  “Stannis Baratheon has been slow in making friends.  More and more Houses flock to the Targaryen banner each day.  What are we to make of this?”  

“Targaryen?  At best, he’s just some good-for-nothing commoner from Lys who has been forced to pretend that he is a King.  Word is that he’s one of Oberyn Martell’s bastards and a sodomite besides.  This so-called Aegon is just another pretender like Renly or Tommen Lannister.  In time, he’ll meet the same fate as all other traitors.  Just ask Robb Stark about the wages that treason pays.   _He shouldn’t talk about Robb that way, he...  No!  It...it doesn’t matter.  Robb was part of stupid Arya Stark’s pack.  I have no family...not really_ , No One thought to herself sadly.  

“The Lord of Light saw to it that the Young Wolf, his mother, and all the rest of that pack of traitors he had with him got just what they deserved,” Lord Axell continued.   _I hate him!  Him and his stupid Lord of Light.  I will give him the gift of the Many Faced God_ , she decided, glaring at the Hand of the King.  

No One remembered the dreams that had once haunted Arya Stark in the Riverlands.  There was always a direwolf’s head sewn onto Robb’s body.  Men screamed and she found herself trapped in a flaming hell.  In the dreams, Arya always knew that her mother was still alive, even if she was still in the Twins...and she knew that she could still save her.  But before she could, a monster with the head of snarling dog would hit her with his axe and she would see her mother’s dead body by the riverbank.   _She’s dead because I wasn’t there to save her_ , No One thought to herself sadly as she bit her lip to keep from crying.   _No!  Those were Arya’s memories.  I am No One, not Arya of House Stark...not really.  I...I could have saved her.  I could have..._

“Bastard or not, he has Spears guarding him.  And the Roses have their thorns,” the Braavosi replied.  

“The bastard can keep his Spears and Roses.  We have the Wolves with us.  The ones that didn’t decide to get themselves skinned at the Twins.  They know that Stannis Baratheon is the one true King,” Lord Axell continued, not even noticing that the Braavosi was rolling his eyes.  “Lord Stark brings the full might of Winterfell with him.  I’ll grant you that the North is little more than a frozen wasteland, but each of their soldiers is worth five Tyrells and ten of those Dornish sand rats. Savages make for fierce warriors, my friend.”  

_Lord Stark…father?  No, he’s dead._  She had dreamt about the Sept of Baelor too many times.   _They were all standing there...Joffrey...the Queen...and Sansa.  Robb died at the Red Wedding.  Theon murdered Bran and Rickon.  They’re all dead...just like Arya.  There is no Lord Stark._

“How can you be so certain the North will rally behind this bastard of yours?”  

“His Grace has legitimized the boy and removed the stain of bastardry from him with a royal decree.  Only enemies of the crown call him Jon Snow.”  

_Jon Snow?_  All of Arya’s memories came racing back to her with such force that No One forgot all of her training in the House of Black and White. _Jon is alive and Lord of Winterfell._  The very idea seemed ridiculous, but she knew that a member of her pack was finally within her grasp.  It was the last chance for a family that she would ever have for the rest of her life.  

As soon as her target left the room, No One knew that she had to follow him.  She moved slowly at first...her pace quickening with each step.  Before long, she was running as fast as she could.  Not even the power of the Kindly Man could compare to whatever it was within her that was making No One turn her back on the Faceless Men.  

No One jumped from building to building as she continued to follow Lord Axell in search of a way back to Westeros.  She knew that she was being foolish and No One knew all too well that the Faceless Man would not take kindly to her disappearance.  She followed her target for several hours until he finally led her to a large ship, taking his time while he boarded.  

“Greetings, my Lord,” a voice exclaimed.  “How did the meeting go?”  

“The Iron Bank is not what you would call pleasant, Ser Justin.  But I was able to make them see reason and they have delivered.”  

“Shall we leave Braavos?”  

“No, not yet.  There are still a few more things to be done.  We will set sail for White Harbor this evening.”  

Before long, Arya had everything that she needed to travel.  She removed Needle from its hiding place and stole the rest from some of the most crooked merchants in Braavos.  When she was finally ready, she snuck aboard Lord Axell’s ship.   _Quick as a snake.  Quiet as a shadow._  She was finally going home and for the first time that she could remember, Arya Stark was happy.


	24. Kevan

When Kevan left Casterly Rock, he had believed that even the most shameful of deeds would seem noble so long as they occurred at the Rock.  The place had a greatness to it that made every man within its walls seem to stand a bit taller.  Part castle and part fortress, it was the finest structure ever built by men.  That much would have been plain to any man, even a half-wit, the moment he entered the Lion’s Mouth.  He thought that nothing would ever – could ever – bring shame to the Rock.  But that was before he saw how his nephew had defiled it...  

Everything seemed to be in order when Kevan arrived.  The simple act of entering Casterly Rock made his burdens seem that much lighter.  But as he began to make his way to his nephew’s chambers, Kevan found that he wanted nothing so much as to strike his nephew for bringing such filth to the Rock.   _Tywin always said you were a spiteful creature, but mayhaps he had been too kind.  If you wish to dishonor yourself with your whoring, so be it.  A man’s amusements are his own, but neither you nor any other man shall do so in Casterly Rock so long as I remain living.  Tywin would never have shamed himself by bedding whores, not here and not anywhere else.  To dishonor the Rock by bringing one would have been a crime, but this...  Whores no different than the one who leeched off of Tytos for all of those years, dishonoring mother.  Has Tyrion allowed some whore to wear mother’s jewels like his grandfather before him?_

“STOP THIS MADNESS AT ONCE,” Kevan shouted at the four guards whom he saw accompanied by what were plainly women of the night.  One of them was taking a whore on the table.  “You had best leave the Rock now,” he snarled at the women.  “The next one of your kind that I see in Casterly Rock, I’ll hang.  Out all of you!”  They covered themselves as best they could and fled from the room as quickly as they could, which was still far to slow for Kevan’s liking.  

“Find the deepest cell that you can for this one,” he said gesturing to the man who had been bedding one of the women when he arrived.  “Do it quickly and mayhaps I won’t have the three of you sent to the Wall with him.”  

“Please Ser, mercy,” the guard pleaded.  

 “You will be silent.  You seem to have little interest in wearing your armor, so mayhaps it is simply too warm in the Westerlands.  The Wall should prove much more to your during the five minutes it takes you to freeze to death.  I told you to get him out of my sight,” he snapped at the other three guards.   _I will not let Tyrion turn the Rock into his whorehouse, I owe Tywin that much._

It pleased Kevan to know that his brother would have handled the situation in the same manner.   _It was the same when Ser Alliser made his...accusations.  You execute a man to send a message or eliminate a threat.  If you must needs punish a man...if you want him to suffer for the rest of his days, send him to the Wall._

Angry as he was with the Lord of Casterly Rock, Kevan couldn’t bring himself to give up on his nephew without trying one last time.   _Whatever his faults, Tyrion still plainly has some of his father in him.  I pray that it is enough to make him see reason._

...  

The door to Tyrion’s solar was slightly ajar.   _I swear by the Old Gods and the New, if there is a whore in that room..._ His nephew was alone, drinking an entire goblet of wine in one swallow.  

“Greetings!  I hadn’t expected you, but I will always welcome the company of my beloved nuncle.  Come now, this won’t do, you look near as joyless as father on a bad day.”  

“Tyrion, I know you never got along with your father, but you will not speak ill of the man in my presence, do you understand?  Whatever you may have thought of him the man is dead.  Show some bloody respect.”   _I must needs remain calm._

“And now Joffrey is truly the King.  I fear that I have heard little and less from the capitol in the days since the King and I had our argument over my head’s proximity to my shoulders.  Tell me, what has my beloved nephew been up to since I left?  Has he started any new wars?  A strong King acts boldly or so I’ve been told.  Any word of Sansa Stark’s whereabouts,” Tyrion asked, his expression growing more serious.  

 “No, she has not been seen since the wedding.  The King still believes you helped her escape,” Kevan replied.  His nephew smirked at him oddly for a few seconds before re-filling his goblet wine.  

“Tyrion, there is something serious which I must needs discuss with – "  

“Come now, nuncle, surely it can wait.  We have wine, wealth, and women.  What more could a man want?  If I’m never going to have a chance to play the game again, then I mean to enjoy the rest of my days.  You were always kind to me, nuncle.  What’s mine is yours!  Come, drink to your heart’s content.”  

“I’ll never drink another drop of wine after that bloody wedding,” Ser Kevan replied, scowling as he felt his rage growing with each word that came out of his nephew’s mouth.   _He is simply very drunk, he can not mean this...this madness._  

“Such adventures I will have, nuncle.  Can you imagine the look on father’s face if he were here?  He didn’t leave behind as much gold as I expected, but should be more than enough to –”  

  “ENOUGH!  You will not speak another word you...you bloody...dwarf,” Kevan snapped.  The pained look on his nephew’s face told him all that he needed to know. _That got his attention!_

“Nuncle, I –”  

“You, that’s the bloody problem.  You’ve always been self-indulgent at best with your drinking and your...your whoring.  But this...  When I realized that Joffrey was the Mad King reborn, I rode for Casterly Rock to see my nephew.  Instead I found a spiteful, selfish little beast,” Kevan shouted. _You may hate me for this, but you’ve left me no choice._

“I am still the Lord of Casterly Rock.  I think you’d best leave, nuncle,” Tyrion replied.  

“No, I don’t think I will.  You are the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands.  That is the bloody point.  Your actions affect other people now.  They affect me.  They affect your brother Jaime.  They affect Lords and ladies across the Westerlands who should look to you for leadership.  They affect Princess Myrcella and King Tommen.  No man is ever truly free.

Men oft say that I never had a thought that my brother didn’t have first,” Kevan continued, “but that isn’t so.  Your father was a far better man than I could ever hope to be, but he always sought my counsel.  When he told me that he was going to send me back to the capitol to act as Hand in his stead, do you know what I said?  I told him that he should send you instead.  I told him that whatever else you were, you’d prove yourself worthy of the name Lannister if he would only give you real power and responsibility.  I told him that even though you were the least of us, you were still a Lannister.  You were still his son.  He gave you that chance and some men say you destroyed Stannis’ entire by setting Blackwater Bay on fire.  But others said that you brought a whore into his bed.  A whore like the one Tytos Lannister allowed to wear my mother’s jewels.  He named you Master of Coin and you did nothing but jape, snicker, and hold that great man up to ridicule.  And you’ll bed whores, but you wouldn’t put a baby in San–”  

“Seven Hells, she was a bloody child.  What would you and father have had me do?  Rape her?  Do what he made me do to my wife?”  

“That business with the crofter’s daughter was...unfortunate, but your father had the right of it.  You are a Lannister of Casterly Rock.  As for the other matter, you had a duty to your House.  One would hope that Lady Sansa would have done her duty as a wife willingly, but if it came to that – ”  

“No!  If you want to see someone fucked so badly, nuncle, you can start with father.  You certainly seem to love him well enough.  I will hear no more of this,” Tyrion snapped.  

It took every ounce of restraint Kevan had to keep from striking his nephew.   _You had a duty to your House.  Nothing else matters.  Not your wishes and certainly not those of the bloody Stark girl._

“It doesn’t matter, the girl is gone.  You are a man of great wealth with a noble name and gifts that few others posses.  Don’t waste your life in your cups, surrounded by whores, japing about what a hard man your father was.  Do you really hate your him so much that you would let whores roam Casterly Rock?  That you would bring one into his bed?”  

“Shae.  She had a name.  I...I know that she didn’t love me, but all the same, I loved her.”  

“She was a – ”  

“You will not call her that word, nuncle.  Do you understand?  I...I forgot to warn her.  She may not have loved me, but I should have warned her to leave King’s Landing as soon as I walked out of the Small Council chamber.  The day of the Purple Wedding Lord Varys told me that Cersei and my father knew about her.  If Joffrey knew...”  

Kevan sighed.   _At least he isn’t drinking himself into an early grave to spite his father.  Only a fool would fall in love with a whore, but mayhaps...mayhaps this can be forgiven if he will put an end to this madness immediately._  

 “Tyrion, you have the potential to be a great man.  Not half so great as your father, but a great man all the same.  Neither Jaime nor I are the man House Lannister will need to guide it through the days ahead, but you could be, if you were so inclined.  If you would do so, then you must needs to start acting like a Lannister.  For the sake of our House, you have to become the man you were meant to be now.  Not tomorrow, not in a month, and not a year from now.  

The choice is yours, I cannot decide for you.  Would you spend the rest of your days as the Imp – a drunken dwarf, lost in his cups – or will you become Lord Tyrion of House Lannister, the man you were when you served as Hand and one whom I would be proud to name as my nephew?”  As soon as he saw the look on Tyrion’s face, Kevan knew the answer.  

“So long as a Lord is still free to drink himself to an early grave, I will do what I can, nuncle.  I...I have rather missed the game.  All the same, I believe that you’d best leave the Rock.  Your talents would be of much greater use elsewhere.  The Iron Born have already taken Faircastle Isle and will attack Lannisport next, most like.  You will command the city’s defenses.”   _This will not serve.  He will have even greater need of my counsel than my brother did._

“Tyrion –”  

“I am a Lord, nuncle.  I must needs act the part.  I suppose that means you should also address me as such, Ser.”  

  “My Lord, I don’t understand.”  

“We all must needs do our part for our part for House Lannister in the days ahead.  Isn’t that what you were saying only a moment ago?  You have said things today for which I will always be grateful.  But you have also said things that I will not soon forget, Ser,” said Tyrion coldly.  

“Very well, my Lord.  If...if that is what you think it best,” Kevan replied sadly.  

“It is indeed what I think best, Ser Kevan.  Oh and one more thing, you will never speak of Tysha or Lady Sansa again...ever.  Should you do so, you will find yourself unwelcome in Casterly Rock for the rest of your days.”  

...  

It had been one week since Kevan’s nephew sent him to Lannisport.   _Banished me,_ he thought to himself bitterly.  Tyrion was right about the Iron Born, of course.  They had already lit half of the city on fire.   _Fire...just like Joffrey...just like King’s Landing...  The Tyrells paid for their treason.  Queen Margaery, her newborn son, Lords Tyrell and Redwyne...they burned with the rest of the city.  Tommen is dead too, most like. Would even the Mad King have...  Best not to think about such things._

Try as he might, Kevan found that he could not make himself focus on the battle that was raging around him.  Too much had happened since he arrived at Lannisport.  Men had done things he would not have believed possible and Kevan felt as though he had aged a thousand years since learning what his grandnephew had done.   _Aerys III..._  

_Tyrion has plainly decided to become the man that House Lannister needs.  I can take comfort in that much, if little else.  I should be by his side as I was his father’s.  Any man who would lead must needs know when to follow_ , he told himself.  He shook his head sadly and sighed.   _I am growing too old.  A man should not lose himself in his thoughts during a battle._  

Kevan looked up in time to see a crossbow bolt racing towards him, but it was too late.  He fell to the ground and felt the life begin to slip out of him.  As Lannisport burned, Kevan closed his eyes and the pain finally stopped.


	25. The Queen of Thorns

_Joffrey was a monster, any fool could see that.  Almost any fool_ , Olenna thought to herself sadly, remembering the last conversation she had with her son before his death.   _Even so, who could have imagined that the boy was mad enough to burn down King’s Landing with wildfire.  Some men have taken to calling the monster Aerys III, but not even the Mad King would have ever dreamed of doing such a thing as this.  Garlan...he...surely he doesn’t truly blame me for this.  He can’t have meant it.  How could I have known?  How could anyone have known?_

_Trying to place the Baratheon child_ – she would not refer to her great-grandson as Walder – _on the Iron Throne had always been a risk.  If only the child had been born a girl.  We would have declared for Aegon at a later date and mayhaps this all could have been avoided.  As it stands, we no longer have any choice but to support his claim.  I told Mace what to do if the child was born a boy.  He never would have done it on his own._

_All the same, how can Garlan believe that this was my doing?  Does he think that I have suffered any less than he has?  My son is dead, my granddaughter is dead, my youngest grandson is dead, and my eldest Grandson has been driven half-mad by grief._  Even though Willas was still alive, what had happened to him was the most painful blow of all.  

_If he is right and I am partly to blame, then I suppose seeing what Willas has become is my punishment.  Others take the Seven, what Gods would allow something like that to happen?  What Gods would allow King’s Landing and everyone in it to burn to death?  What Gods would turn a kind, intelligent, honorable man like Willas into a..._  She couldn’t finish the sentence, not even in her own mind.  

There had been nothing oafish about Willas before the fire.  The boy would’ve made a fine Lord or so she had once believed.  The Queen of Thorns cursed herself for not having been able to find the right words to save her grandson from the madness that seemed to have infected him.  

Her surviving grandchildren had each tried to cope with the tragedy in different ways.  Garlan spent most nights lost in his cups, but at heart, he was still the same man he had always been.  But the fire had changed Lord Willas and not for the better.  When he learned of the deaths of his father, brother, and sister, the poor man drank seven drops of essence of nightshade in his grief.  At first, the Queen of Thorns had believed losing yet another member of her family – the new Lord of Highgarden – was the worst thing that could happen to House Tyrell under the present circumstances.  But that was before Willas woke up.   _One almost wonders whether it wouldn’t have been best for everyone, Willas most of all, if he succeeded in taking his life..._

  Ever since he woke up, three days after trying to poison himself, Willas’ behavior had grown more and more unsettling.  The seizures and rapid, jerking motions were worrisome enough in their own right, but they did not frighten the Queen of Thorns half so much as what Willas had been saying of late.   _He sees enemies everywhere.  He probably believes his own shadow was conspiring with Joffrey_ , she thought to herself with a sigh.   _I have no doubt the Freys and the Greyjoys wish us ill, but the Tullys?  Madness._  And yet the Lord of Highgarden had sworn that he would have his revenge on Edmure Tully, Stannis Baratheon, the Iron Born, the Starks, Lord Bolton, and everyone else he believed had conspired with Joffrey to bring ruin to House Tyrell.   _I warned him not to speak of such foolishness and now refuses to heed any of my counsel simply to spite me.  I truly worry about poor Willas._

_With Garlan lost in his cups, I imagine I will have to rely on Lord Tarly as never before, at least until Willas returns to his senses.  One could do worse, I suppose.  The man is nothing if not loyal and has a good military mind besides.  Even so, he will never truly be capable of playing the game of thrones.  Mayhaps that is for the best.  Lord Redwyne was far too ambitious to be relied upon during such times as these.  If Littlefinger is to be believed, the only things that man loved half so much as acquiring new titles was bedding little boys._  

_Men say not we should not speak ill of the dead.  Hogwash, I say.  The dead can’t hear us and I wouldn’t think ill of Lord Redwyne if he weren’t always trying so bloody hard to give me cause to do so.  I fear Lord Rowan can no longer be trusted either.  Not so long as there remain rumors that he let the Kingslayer leave King’s Landing.  Jaime Lannister would have been a valuable hostage.  Could Lord Rowan be conspiring with the Lannisters?  Seven Hells, I’m starting to sound like Willas.  I imagine they’ll start calling him the Mad Rose if he continues to spout such foolishness._

_‘We’ll have our revenge when the time is right.  There are still too many traitors lurking about in the Reach.’  I swear, some days he sounds like...  No!  His madness is only a passing thing borne of grief.  It has to be, for all of our sakes..._


	26. Asha

_The Battle of Meereen.  A massacre, more like_ , Asha thought to herself as she stood on the balcony of a Meereenese pyramid, surveying the damage that the city had suffered during the fighting.  The fleet of Qarth had been burned to a crisp and what little remained of it was resting in the bottom of the bay.   _Victarion would have gotten himself killed attacking the slaves, most like.  The fool doesn’t know how lucky he is that Euron sent him to take Lannisport.  The Dragon Queen would have burned the bloody fool and his entire fleet._  The only reason that Asha hadn’t done attacked them herself was that she saw the dragons before she had a chance to give the order.  

Even though she had no intention of joining her fellow Iron Born on Euron’s suicide mission, Asha had to admit that much and more had gone as the Crow’s Eye had promised.  Fair Castle Isle and the Shield Islands fell almost immediately and she’d heard a Meereenese merchant claiming that Lannisport had been burned. _I suppose it’s fitting that he burned Lannisport just as he did the Greenlander’s fleet.  Soon the Crow’s Eye will have the Twins too, most like._ Asha spat at the thought of her least favorite nuncle.  

The trip to Meereen had been surprisingly pleasant.  She’d led a few raids, sacked the Arbor, and had the pleasure of seeing half of her ship’s crew – some of the most dangerous men in the Iron Islands – piss themselves when they saw three dragons incinerate a fleet ten times the size of her own in a matter of seconds.  

_This so-called Mother of Dragons certainly has a strange collection of advisors: a sellsword, some greenlander from the North who plainly loathes me, a slave girl, and an army of eunuchs.  The Lord Commander of her Queen’s Guard looks like a bloody maester.  Mayhaps she will allow an Iron Born exile to join their ranks.  She won’t take the Iron Throne the greenlanders are all fighting over, most like.  Not even with her dragons.  So long as she burns the Crow’s Eye to a crisp, it matters not at all whether she succeeds or fails._

Asha had toyed with the idea of not delivering Euron's marriage proposal until such time as she was certain that Daenerys would turn it down.  The greenlander and the elderly knight had both been outraged by the offer and the former was plainly relieved once once it had been rejected.   _They had no need to worry, I’d wager._

She did not care for most of the Dragon Queen’s advisors, but the only one she truly resented was the greenlander knight...and not just because he always looked as though he wanted to drive his sword through her back.   _The way he looks at her..._  Asha knew all to well what it meant when a man stared at a woman the way Ser Jorah oft stared at his Queen.   _That one would do well to remember his place._

Daenerys did, however, accept Asha’s offer to fight for her in the war to come.  Promised to help seat me on the Seastone chair if I serve her loyally.   _I will not kneel, but I suppose I can still serve another for a time._  Since then, her fleet had grown exponentially and she had come to find Ser Jorah’s contempt rather amusing.   _The bloody fool takes himself near as seriously as Aeron_ , Asha thought to herself as she re-entered the pyramid, flanked by Qarl and Tristifer.  

“I've heard the Queen is quite distraught.  Doesn’t have the stomach for another battle from what I hear.”  

“You'll hear many things, Tristifer, that doesn't make them true.  The same goes for your thoughts,” Asha replied.  

“And what of the letter,” asked Qarl.  “She’s not the last dragon.  Even now, there is another with a better claim that hers.  She can’t possibly mean to fight against him.”  

“She may not be the last dragon, but she is the only one with dragons...and an army of crazed eunuchs besides.  I would not bet against this Dragon Queen.”  

“You would be wise not to do so,” said Daenerys, having apparently entered the room unnoticed while they had been talking.  

“I take it you have made your mind.”  

“Indeed I have,” the Dragon Queen replied.  “The letter from Aegon Targaryen was an interesting one.  It contained many promises about a bright future and spoke of the supposed need for me to remain in Meereen.  Aegon has offered me the island Dragonstone should I remain in slaver’s bay until such time as he has taken the Iron Throne.   

But I will not wait in Meereen!  I am Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Khaleesi of the Green Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Queen of Meereen.  I have never seen this man who claims to be my nephew and now asks me to stand aside so that he may claim what is mine by rights.  I will not bend the knee to this mummer’s dragon who boasts of having the support of Illyrio Mopatis, the man who once sold my brother and I.  I will go to Volantis, Lys, Myr, Tyrosh, Pentos, and Braavos and put an end to slavery in the so-called Free Cities.  Once every chain has been broken and every slave has been freed, we shall return to Westeros and I will take the Iron Throne with fire and blood. Let this Aegon stand aside.  And then, Princess Asha, I will help you take what is yours.  We will drive Euron Greyjoy from the Iron Islands.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having trouble deciding whether the next chapter should be the one revealing Sansa's whereabouts or one checking in on House Frey. If anyone has a preference one way or the other, let me know in the comments.


	27. The Spider

_Another mutilation_ , the Spider thought to himself with a sigh.  Varys had managed to escape from King’s Landing, but he had not made it out of the city unscathed.  He couldn’t run anymore and even walking was painful at times.  Even so, he was now in Storm's End and would soon be serving as Master of Whisperers for a new King.  A Targaryen King.  And he had a gift for the King which would no doubt proof quite useful in the coming war with Stannis Baratheon.  

As soon as his little birds began singing songs of Lady Olenna’s plot to poison both Lord Tywin and the King...and of Littlefinger’s plan to use Dontos Hollard to smuggle Sansa Stark out of King’s Landing, the Spider began spinning his web.  It had been simple enough to drug poor Dontos’ wine, but his agents were unable to smuggle the girl out of the wedding in time.  Fortunately, Lord Tyrion had bribed her guards and entrusted him with Lady Sansa's safety.   _I suppose one could say that Pentos was the safest place for her, but I don’t imagine this was what the Lord of Casterly Rock had in mind.  A long journey for a young girl, although I mayhaps one made somewhat happier by knowledge that Joffrey Baratheon is dead._ With Joffrey and Littlefinger gone, it was finally safe to have Illyrio send her to Storm’s End.  

_Jon Snow is still a bastard and always will be in the eyes of the North.  No decree can ever change that although I suppose it has complicated matters.  Many Lords will follow him now that he has slain Lord Bolton and claimed Winterfell as his seat._

For a time, Ramsay Bolton seemed as though he could have been a useful catspaw in any future plots against Stannis’ wolf.  The Spider had little birds in the Dreadfort and it would have been simple enough to feed the beast enough information to create a bit of chaos in the North.   _A cruel and unpredictable monster, but even so, I could have made use of him.  Of course, his disappearance makes it a moot point.  Pity._

_One wonders where he could have gone, assuming he isn’t lying dead in the snow somewhere.  Wherever he is, I imagine he brought Theon Greyjoy with him,_ Varys thought to himself, wincing in disgust.  It took a great deal to shock the Spider, but he had been shocked by some of the songs he heard about poor Theon. _My little birds no longer sing me any songs about either of them.  Sadly, I fear I have no time to investigate curiosities at the edge of the world._

_One wonders if it wouldn’t be easier to simply poison Jon Stark.  The Tyrells have already show what an efficient method that can be for dealing with...problematic bastards.  He must needs die and soon, that much is certain._

...  

“Lady Sansa, it has been a long time,” said Varys, forcing himself to bow despite his injuries.  

“It has, Lord Varys.  It's strange to see a face from King's Landing after...”  

“Yes, yes, a most unfortunate incident, but you’re safe now.”  

The Dornishmen had sent several ships filled with noblemen.   _They hope to fill the court before House Tyrell can do the same, most like.  One would think Prince Doran would be content with forcing the King to wed his daughter.  There will be time enough for that later.  For now, Lady Sansa must needs take precedence.  If she is to support Aegon’s claim and rally the North to our cause, she must needs be made to believe that we are her friends.  A frightened hostage will not sway many Northmen.  Some of them already consider her more Lannister than Stark._  

“I trust you had a pleasant journey, Lady Sansa.”  

“Yes, it...it was pleasant, my Lord.”  

“That is good to hear.”  

“Lord Varys?”  

“Yes?”  

“I...never had a chance to thank you for getting me out of the city.”  

“No need to thank me, my Lady, I was simply serving the realm.  I suppose now is as good a time as any to mention that I have delivered you to King Aegon.”  

“The Targaryen? But...my father...he...”  

“Yes, your father rebelled against House Targaryen and they were certainly enemies of House Stark.  But that was some time ago.  As I said, you’re safe.  No harm will come to you at Storm’s End.  Although I fear that your stay could grow...unpleasant if you refuse to do as you are bid.”  

“I...I...”  

“At least King Aegon isn't Joffrey.”  

“King Joffrey was – ”  

“We all know what we was, my Lady. You can take comfort in that much, at least.”  

...  

The Spider pushed the shred of pity he felt for the Stark girl aside and began writing as fast as he could.   _So many ravens, so little time..._  The hours passed and once night finally came through, he decided that he had written enough for one day.  It was time to enjoy his victory, if only for a moment.  Everyone else that I served with on the Small Council is dead save for Lord Tyrion and I have no wish to see any harm come to him.  I do hope there is never a need to have him killed.  

The sense of amusement that Lord Baelish’s death brought him was second to none.   _Poor Littlefinger.  Taken out of the game by an absurd accident._  In truth, the Spider did not believe the Vale Lords’ claim that Littlefinger slipped and fell to his death, but he saw no harm in pretending it was so.   _A fitting end for a man who believe in chaos._

“Ser Arys Oakheart, I command you to leave your post.  I must needs to speak to you in private," shouted Lord Commander Aero.  

_It seems I arrived at exactly the right time._ The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard took Ser Arys into one of the unoccupied rooms.  The Spider approached carefully and then he started to listen.  

“You made a mistake, Ser.”  

“Did I, Lord Commander?  What was it?”   

“You broke your oath.”  

Varys did not need to watch, Ser Arys’ scream told him all he needed to know. _I wondered how long it would take for the Lord Commander to put an end to Ser Arys's escapades with the Queen._


	28. Black Walder

_Where in the Seven Hells is that up-tight son of a whore,_ wondered Black Walder as finished the last piece of lamprey pie.   _Come meet and your Gods like a man, Edwyn.  Do something right for once.  Mayhaps the dumb bastard will have himself a new wife, I’d gladly take her right in front of him.  The first one’s honey was certainly sweet enough.  Heh.  Edwyn has good taste in women if little else,_ he thought to himself with a chuckle.  

_If my brother had the brains the Gods gave a turnip he wouldn’t have been so surprised when he caught me with her.  His wife would oft complain of how he was unable to perform his duty as a husband.  Probably why he has no children.  Mayhaps men are more to his liking.  Seven Hells, to hear Edwyn tell it, you’d think that I raped the girl bloody.  I didn’t do anything his whore wife didn’t want.  She even told him as much herself.  I doubt I’ll ever see half so pleasing a sight as the look on my dear brother’s face when he found us.  Heh._

_I’ve always bedded my kin and their wives, no one else.  Keeps the bloodline pure.  No one else said a word.  I suppose none of the others caught me in the act, but even so, surely they suspected.  Everyone knew about Gatehouse Ami, if nothing else.  And even poor Jinglebell knew about Edwyn’s wife, I’ll wager.  Heh._

_If the bloody fool would’ve just pulled that stick out of his arse long enough to pleasure his own wife, mayhaps she wouldn’t have come to me in search of a sympathetic cock to cry on.  Heh.  There is nothing half so insufferable as a bloody prude.  The fool should just get over it.  The better man won, as his wife was always so fond of reminding him.  Heh._

_Shame I had to kill so many of my kin...so many Frey girls I’ll never have a chance to bed,_ Black Walder thought to himself with a sigh.   _I suppose we must all make sacrifices for the greater good.  They had to sacrifice their lives and I had to sacrifice a few nights of pleasure.  It wouldn’t do to rape any of the girls.  Half the fun is in the chase, aye.  Leading ‘em away from whichever of my kin they’ve wedded or hearing Edwyn rant and rave about how the bloody Riverlords already think we’re a bunch of inbreds.  Others take the Riverlords.  So what if we are a bunch inbreds?  Lord Tywin wed his cousin and Ser Jaime fathered all of his sister’s children.  Seems to have worked out well enough for them._

_That self-righteous cunt best not come to the Twins and name me a kinslayer.  Not after what he did to our grandfather.  Edwyn was always a hateful little beast, but poisoning our great-grandfather...  I hated the bastard as much as anyone else and I would’ve poisoned Edwyn when the time came, but that was another matter entirely.  My dear brother deserves the strangler.  I would’ve at least had the decency to acquire the tears of Lys or some other poison that would’ve given him a peaceful death.  Better than the likes of my brother deserve and a damn sight better than whatever his spies at the Twins slipped poor Walder._

_You see what you’ve done, Edwyn, you son of a whore.  You’ve made me pity our wretched great-grandfather,_ he thought to himself with a frown.   _I hated that man, same as you, but to draw his death out like that...  Seven Hells, Edwyn...  What sort of beast would leave an old man spending his last days in the privy shitting blood.  At least I was able to have that bloody maester executed for insisting that our grandfather died of a bad belly.  That old fool was plainly Edwyn’s creature.  Once Walder died, there was nothing left to do, but bribe the soldiers and kill every other Frey in the Twins before one of them did the same._

_Aenys and Hosteen had already gone North, but they’re long dead, I’ll wager.  Never liked Hosteen.  Jinglebell had ten times the wits of that one.  And his wife wasn’t half as good a lay as I’d hoped, whatever her bloody name was,_ Black Walder thought to himself, scowling. _A wasted night if there ever was one._

_Men say Edwyn and that bastard dog of his are amassing an army.  Good let them come.  I’ll fuck the kinslayer bloody with his own sword before I kill him.  Mayhaps I’ll drown Edwyn’s pet bastard in a river.  Seems fitting enough.  Heh._

_Ser Walder Rivers was always Edwyn’s creature.  The proud little shit would always try to Lord over me as if not fucking his kin made him superior.  The bastard would do well to remember that he’d be just another bloody commoner if my grandfather hadn’t taken some milkmaid.  Seven Hells, the bastard was near as bad as Edwyn.  The only other Freys left are Big Walder and Little Walder, but they’re of little consequence and the Bastard of Bolton has them besides.  He’s welcome to them, I say._

_Even if Edwyn can get himself an army, he’ll never be able to lead them.  How does the bloody fool expect to lead men in battle when he couldn’t even lead his member to his own wife.  Heh.  I think I’ll unman Edwyn before I kill him, not that he was ever much of a man.  Not if his wife is to be believed, anyway.  Heh._

_And if somehow the son of a whore has found himself powerful friends, he’d do well to remember that I have powerful friends too.  The Lannisters know what a good friend that have in Black Walder, aye.  I stuck with ‘em even after Joffrey Lannister burned down King’s Landing.  I’m an honorable man and loyal besides.  The Lannisters know what a powerful friend they have in House Frey for so long as I rule the Twins.  The Kingslayer is riding to the Twins right now with reinforcements, I’ll wager._  

  “My Lord,” shouted one of the guards, bursting into the room.  “The Iron Born are attacking.  One of their ships is flying your brother’s coat of arms.  They overran us almost instantly.  The men are deserting.  They –”  

“No need to trouble yourself, Waymar,” Black Walder replied.  “I imagine the Lannisters are already on their way.  By the time you leave this room they’ll have already made short work of my brother and his Iron Born rabble, I’ll wager.”  


	29. Edwyn

**Edwyn**

_Not laughing anymore, are you, you son of a whore,_ Edwyn Frey thought to himself as he stood aboard the Silence.  The Iron Born had delivered the Twins as promised and brought Black Walder to the deck of the ship.   _There was no need to put the black bastard in chains.  I don’t imagine he’d have been going anywhere either way.  I doubt I’ll ever see something half so pleasant as the look on my dear brother’s face,_ Edwyn thought to himself when he saw the fear in Black Walder’s eyes the moment his blindfold was removed.  

“Hello, little brother.  It has been far too long.”   _The bloody fool isn’t even trying to speak.  The little shit is plainly to scared to make a sound, as well he should be.  That bastard won’t get any mercy from me...not after telling every man he knew about the night that he gave me horns,_ Edwyn decided, grinding his teeth.   _In a few minutes, whatever poison Black Walder slipped our great-grandfather will seem like a mercy.  Seven Hells, what kind of man would see his own great-grandfather spend his last two days shitting blood on the privy?  The man’s heart must near as black as his beard._

“You were always so very fond of telling men that nothing ever pleased you half so much as the look on my face when I caught you giving me horns in my own...what are you smiling about?  What are you even doing here, dog?  This business doesn’t concern you or your bloody savages,” Edwyn snapped at the so-called King of the Iron Islands.  

“Forgive me, my Lord.  I was simply smiling at the thought of justice being done to your degenerate brother,” Euron replied, plainly struggling to contain his laughter.   _How dare that sea rat laugh at me!  Edwyn Frey is not a man to be mocked!  Black Walder is about to learn that lesson, aye.  You will too, you smiling son of a whore.  You and all of your bloody Iron Born.  You won’t be laughing when the Lannisters come after you for burning down Lannisport.  They’ll put you to the sword along with the rest of your bloody savages.  I’ll have the last laugh though.  The Lannisters will be too weak from their war with the Iron Born to stand against the might of House Frey.  The Kingslayer won’t be laughing when I take off his head and Aegon Targaryen names me Warden of the West.  And if that bastard won’t, mayhaps Stannis Baratheon or Tommen Lannister will.  Until then, I must needs bide my time.  Let Euron Greyjoy laugh while he can..._  

“Very well.  It is a pleasant enough thought, I suppose,” Edwyn replied.  

 “One more thing, my Lord.  I’d never dream of interrupting such a touching reunion, but do you mind if I watch?  After all, it was my idea to unman him,” asked Euron.  The so-called King of the Iron Born laughed as Black Walder began flailing about like a mad man.  

“Fine, fine, fine.  Just stop talk – ”  

  “Let the prisoner go,” Euron shouted.  

“What in the Seven –”  

“The man is still in chains, Edwyn.  There is no need to have my men hold him for you.  I know that your beloved brother made himself Lord of your wife’s crossing, but surely you can still handle an unarmed prisoner...at least until we’re ready to make a eunuch of him.”  

“You will address me as ‘my Lord’, dog,” Edwyn snapped.   _The man grows bolder by the day.  I may have to dispose of him sooner than I had planned.  Wouldn’t do for him and his savages to start deluding themselves about who is in charge.  Others take that one-eyed bastard.  Him and his bloody Iron Born._

“Careful, Edwyn.  Lord or no, this is still my ship.” _I will remember this insolence!  Laugh while you can, you son of a whore._

  Suddenly, Black Walder began to make an odd wheezing noise through his gag, as though he were trying to laugh.  

“SHUT UP, you black bastard!  I’m about to have you unmanned.  What are you so damned happy about?  Answer me,” Edwyn snapped, yanking the cloth out of Black Walder’s mouth.  The Lord of the Crossing’s face darkened with rage when his brother opened his wretched mouth.  

“Seven Hells.  You...you cut out his bloody tongue.  My brother was to be brought to me unharmed so that I could punish him as I saw fit.”  

“Afraid there’s been a change in plans, dog,” Euron replied.  

“DOG?  You’d best remember your place, you bloody – ”  Something hit Edwyn in the back of the head and everything went black.  

...  

When Edwyn awoke, he found himself in chains and his mouth was in excruciating pain.  He spat out an ocean of blood.   _That oathbreaking cunt has shit for honor!  Euron will pay dearly for this!  I swear it by the Old Gods and the New!_  As he looked around the deck, Edwyn saw that both he and his brother were chained to a much larger chain.   _Seven Hells...the anchor.  The one-eyed son of a whore means to drown us._

“Wake up, Black Walder!  They’re going to kill us both, you dumb bastard,” Edwyn tried to shout.  He opened his mouth, but could not say a word.   _The blood...  They cut...they cut mine out too.  They cut out my...  Seven Hells, it's him._

“Awake at last, dog,” asked Euron.  “You and your brother seemed so close that I thought it fitting for the two of you die together.  I should mention that while the two of you were indisposed, my men sacked the Twins and put that bastard knight of yours to the sword.  Now that I’ve taken the Twins, I’m sure you can see how your presecence aboard this ship has become...unnecessary.  I take it by your silence that you agree.  There’s a good dog!  Well then, I suppose there’s nothing else left to do except drop the anchor...”  


	30. Davos

_As high as honor.  An honorable man wouldn’t spend half so much time as this lot telling everyone about how bloody honorable he is,_ Davos thought to himself as he studied the Lords who sat on the Vale Council.  During his days as a smuggler, he had quickly learned how to read a man and determine his true nature in a matter of minutes.  It was a skill that had served him well in the years since...and one that he would have great need for if he was to survive his meeting with the Vale Lords, much less persuade them to declare for the King.  

Bronze Yohn struck the onion knight as the most honorable of the Vale Lords.   _Even if the man found himself forced to participate in this mummer’s farce, I don’t imagine he’s any more pleased with it than Lord Connington and I.  He’ll be the closest thing to an ally that I can hope for, most like.  The others plainly want to drop me through their bloody moon door and be done with it.  Lord Royce would have me say what I came here to say before he has me killed.  And no matter how much the man loathes me, I don’t imagine he’ll be inclined to turn down the King’s proposal.  Mayhaps I can persuade Lord Redfort too, but the others..._

_Lady Waynwood will support whichever side is willing to pay the most for her loyalty.  The Tyrells have already purchased her for the false dragon, most like._  Davos knew that the King would never pay a single copper for a House’s loyalty.  He had convinced Stannis to allow him to offer the Vale Lords a marriage alliance by appealing to the King’s sense of duty.  Even so, buying a House’s so-called loyalty – something that every Lord already owed their King – was another matter entirely.  

As much as the onion knight admired Stannis for being one of the few truly just men in Westeros, he knew all too well that it meant they had conceded Anya Waynwood’s vote to Lord Connington’s false dragon before a single word had been spoken.   _Mayhaps the Waynwoods will declare for Tommen_ , he thought to himself with the smallest of smiles.  

The worst of the Vale Lords were Lyn Corbray and Gilwood Hunter, both of whom had recently risen to their positions due the death of a brother.   _And not accidental deaths, I’ll wager._  Lord Hunter was plainly did not care which side the Vale declared for, but Lord Corbray appeared to have taken a great deal of interest in the proceedings.   _Lord Royce would not have thought to dishonor himself in such a manner and the others are not clever enough.  This was Lord Corbray’s doing, most like_ , Davos thought to himself bitterly.  

The Vale Lords had sent a raven to Winterfell requesting that either Stannis or his Hand travel to the Eyrie to treat with the Vale Council as they considered which side to support.  Lord Axell Florent was in Braavos, so Davos had been sent instead only to find that Lord Connington had arrived at the Eyrie one day earlier.  A raven had been sent to Storm’s End baring a similar message.  

The Vale Lords made a point of refusing to allow either man to eat bread and salt, meaning that neither could rely upon the protection of the guest right.   _Denying us the guest right was certainly Lord Corbray’s idea.  The bastard had the nerve to boast about it._  The Lords then informed both men that they expected them to speak on behalf of their respective Kings before the council would decided which King to declare for.  Once a decision had been made, one of them would leave the Eyrie with the support of the Vale and the other would leave through the moon door.  

As Lord Connington droned on and on about the chance that the council had to erase the stain of dishonor Jon Arryn brought to the Vale by supporting ‘the Usurper,’ the onion knight found himself wondering if the situation might not be half so hopeless as it seemed.   _The false dragon could not have chosen a worse man for this task.  Lord Connington speaks like a man far more concerned with re-writing the history of Robert’s Rebellion than the interests of the Vale.  A man like Lyn Corbray would sooner boast of having shit for honor than he would support a King who promises him nothing except the chance to right past wrongs.  Lord Connington might have had better luck with Lords Royce and Redfort, but neither man will respond well to watching a man drag Jon Arryn’s name through the mud._  

Lord Connington finished speaking and the onion knight rose.  “My Lords, I have come on behalf of the one true King, Stannis Baratheon.  I am not here to insult House Arryn or any of the other noble Houses of the Vale.”  

“See to it that you don’t, smuggler.  We’ve had quite enough of that already,” said Bronze Yohn, scowling at Lord Connington.  

“No need to worry about that, my Lord,” Davos replied.  “You must know that even the King’s enemies do not deny that he is a just man.  As such, he has great admiration for the honor that has so oft been displayed not only by House Arryn, but by all of the noble Houses of the Vale.  The King –”  

 “Yes, yes, yes, we have heard all about your so-called King’s justice.  Ours is the Fury indeed,” said Lady Anya.  “That false King of yours worships some fire God from across the Narrow Sea and burns all those who won’t convert to his blasphemous faith.  This smuggler would see us all burned alive for refusing to forsake our Gods.  The Mad King was most fond of burning men alive, as I recall.  Joffrey Lannister was too, for that matter.  If Stannis Baratheon, Others take him, ever becomes King, the first thing he will do is sentence each of us to death for worshiping the Seven.  Tell me, smuggler, is this the justice that you speak of?  Do you deny that Stannis Baratheon has forsaken the Faith of the Seven.”  

“The King worships the Lord of Light, that much is true.  Don’t much care for it, myself.  However, he does not burn those who worship the Seven.  If he did, I’d have died some time ago.  And if any among you fear he would burn our septs, you needn’t worry.  Ask the Northmen.  They worship the Old Gods and the King has not cut down any of their weirwood trees.  The King has named Lord Jon Stark as his Warden of the North.  Every member of House Stark is dead except for the one who declared for King Stannis.  Meaning no disrespect, my Lady, but you cannot believe that a Stark of Winterfell would fight for a King who burned every man that didn’t worship the Lord of Light.”  

“The boy is a bastard, not a Stark,” Anya replied.  “And you are not speaking of a King.  You are singing the praises of a fanatical heathen who surrounds himself with lying smugglers and oathbreaking bastards.  His Queen died not long before Joffrey burned down King’s Landing.  I hear she died without leaving Stannis with a proper heir...only a little girl whom the Seven infected with grey scale to punish Stannis for his sins.  But please, smuggler, tell us more of this so-called King’s justice.”  

“I don’t have to tell you about the King’s justice, my Lady.  You can see it for yourself,” said Davos, taking the glove off his left hand and holding it up for the entire room to see.  “This is the King’s justice.  I saved the King’s life and the lives of his men by smuggling food into Storm’s End when it was under siege.  For that, the King knighted me.  But I also was a smuggler and for my past crimes, he took the first joint from each finger on my left hand.  The King is a tested battle commander with the best claim and he is a just man, my Lords.  

As Lady Waynwood has said, Queen Selyse passed away.  Aegon Targaryen may have already taken Arianne Martell for wife, but King Stannis will re-marry soon enough.  The King instructed me to inform the council that he would not be opposed to wedding a lady from the Vale should any of you have a daughter whom you believe might prove suitable.  I wouldn’t presume to know any of your thoughts on the matter, my Lords.  I am to report back to His Grace regarding the matter, but having been little more than a lowly smuggler myself not long ago, I fear that I am less than knowledge so far as the finer points of Vale linages are concerned.  Mayhaps when this business is concluded, any among you who are so inclined might be willing to assist me in determining whether there might be a suitable woman in the Vale.”  

“You presume too much, smuggler,” replied Anya.  “It’s past time we ended this mummer’s farce and dropped you through the moon door.  First you tell us to follow your fire-crazed –”  

“I thank you for your wise words, Ser Davos,” said Bronze Yohn, quickly cutting off Lady Waynwood.   _Ser...not smuggler?  I have him!_  “I believe I speak for the entire council when I say that you have already given us much and more to consider.  For my part, I can only say that Stannis Baratheon is plainly the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms.  But as admirable as your humility is, I fear you do yourself a disservice, Ser.  The King has seen fit to send you here with a mission and I would be pleased to assist you in any way that I can.  As it happens, Ser Davos, I have a daughter whom I believe King Stannis would find most suitable.”   _As it happens, my Lord, the King has already consented to just such an arrangement...although he wasn’t half so pleased about it._

“My Lords and I would like to offer our condolences to the King on the death of Queen Selyse,” said Lord Redfort, plainly taking his lead from Bronze Yohn.  “House Redfort has always been proud to count itself as a friend to House Royce of Runestone.  I should like to add that it is my belief that King Stannis could not hope for a better Queen than Lady Ysilla.  Meaning no disrespect to Lady Selyse, of course.”  

“My Lords,” said Lord Hunter, “I fear that I have no daughters and more to the point, I can’t say that I see any honor in serving a King who drinks with smugglers.  Drop the bastard through the moon door, I say.  Mayhaps Stannis’ fire God will give him wings.”  

“Here, here,” shouted Anya as the onion knight turned to face the man who would decide his fate: Lyn Corbray.  

“Seems to me that the matter is simple enough.  This Ser Davos comes to us speaking as an honorable man should and promising that his King will marry a noblewoman from the Vale.  What has this...Lord Connington done?  He spits upon Lord Arryn’s memory and would seat some bastard who calls himself a Targaryen upon the Iron Throne.  We just had one bastard King and that was one too many as far as I’m concerned,” said Lord Corbray.  

“Fine, fine, fine,” snapped Lord Hunter.  “Anything to get out of this bloody room.  This whole damned business has gone on much too long.”  Soon, even Lady Waynwood quietly declared for King Stannis.  

“This Aegon is just some bastard from Myr with the Targaryen look,” Lyn continued, ignoring Lord Connington’s increasingly vigorous protestations.  “Mockingbirds can’t fly, but I’ve always wondered about Griffins.  Let’s find out, shall we?”  

...  

As much as he loathed Lord Corbray, Davos felt that he had little choice but to approach him.   _I owe the man my life and it is because of him as much as anyone else that the King now has full might of the Vale behind him.  Painful as it may be, I suppose I should give him my thanks.  I owe him that much.  All the same, I’d sooner not be in the debt of such a man; I trust him not all._

“Lord Corbray, I was sorry to learn of your brother’s passing.”  

“And why is that, Ser Davos?  I never much liked Lyonel and I’m finally Lord of Heart’s Home besides.”  

“My Lord, you spared my life and choose to declare for the King.  Know that you have my thanks and that the King...”  

“Yes, yes, yes, I shall have the King’s gratitude.  Spare me, Ser.  Here is what I expect in return.  Tell your King that I require no new positions, lands, or incomes.  His bloody gratitude will be its own reward, I’m sure.  However, King’s Landing has been burnt to the ground and not even your King’s bloody fire God can restore it.  You strike me as an honorable man.  Would you say that’s an accurate assessment, Ser?”   _I imagine we’re about to arrive at the point.  If he doesn’t want wealth, land, or titles, it can only mean his price is something even more valuable..._

“I should like to think so, my Lord,” replied the onion knight.  

“Good. I don’t care much how you do it, but when you next see this King of yours, you will convince him to make Gulltown his capitol.  King’s Landing is a pile of rubble, Winterfell and White Harbor will soon be frozen wastelands, and the Iron Born set Lannisport on fire.  That makes Gulltown the largest livable city in Westeros and I should like to be as close as possible to the seat of power.  Give me that much and I’ll wager the incomes, lands, and titles will follow soon enough.  If you can persuade your King to do this thing, Ser Davos, you may consider any debt you owe me to have been paid in full.  I do hope Lannisters aren’t the only ones who pay their debts.”   _There is more to this and I like it not at all.  A man like Lyn Corbray will always come to claim his pound of flesh.  Even so, I can hardly refuse the man’s demand.  Not now..._

 “I wouldn’t presume to speak for the King, but I shall do what I can, my Lord.”  

  “See that you do, Ser Davos.  Don’t look so glum; the King will bring you to Gulltown, I’ll wager.  I imagine we’ll be seeing quite a bit of each other in the coming months,” said Lord Corbrey, patting the onion knight on back before walking away.   _Mayhaps the Red Woman can burn that one..._


	31. Aegon

"I'm sorry, Your Grace," the Maester said once he finished reading Aegon the message about Lord Connington's death at the hands of the Vale Lords.  Aegon threw his goblet across the hall, hitting the old man in the head.  

“I’LL KILL THEM FOR THIS!  I’LL KILL EVERY LAST ONE OF THEM,” the King roared.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his Queen flinch ever so slightly.   _I must control myself. I am not the Mad King._  As a servant moved to clean up the wine, Aegon rose from his throne.  

"I...I apologize for that outburst.  This man is to be given twenty gold dragons for his trouble, so long as this incident does not leave this room.  I am truly sorry, it's just...Jon was...he was like father to me.  He spirited me out of King's Landing, kept me safe in Essos, and taught me how to be a King.  Lord Connington told me all that I know of my parents.  To hear that he has been murdered is...is...”  

...  

_The King in the South, the singers call me.  Even Aegon the Conqueror began with a foothold, I suppose.  I am a King now, just as he was and I must act the part._  Lord Duncan Strong had urged him to take a tent in the field with the soldiers, but Aegon wanted no part of any such madness. _I am a King, not a bloody squire.  All the same, I must not give my enemies any cause to compare me to the Mad King._

While in Pentos, Aegon had read much and more about the Targaryen Madness.  He knew that it was different than the whispers that had long tormented him.  Even so, every day was a constant struggle to contain the fire that burned in his mind.  The King oft dreamt of hanging men above a fire pit and watching as the flames licked at their feet, their clothes, and the ropes around their necks.  Every dream ended with the Usurper’s brother, Stannis Baratheon, being devoured by a dragon.   _I suppose it would be a fitting end for a man who has forsaken the Faith of the Seven in favor of some fire God.  And they are only dreams, nothing more..._

Although the King awoke from each dream with a smile, he had no choice but to tell Queen Arianne that it was because of her beauty. _If anyone knew about my dreams...about the whispers, they'd name me the Mad King reborn.  Mayhaps the whispers are not always wrong.  These Lords and knights who think they can bend me to their will like a child must needs be punished.  I am not a boy!  I am a man grown and a King besides._

_No one ever questions Daenerys!  I'm three years her elder and yet men still look at me as though I were only a little boy.  Could my aunt truly be mad enough to reject my offer?  She must know that I have the better claim...that I am the one true King._ Some of Aegon’s advisers had encouraged him to send soldiers to Essos and aide the Free Cities in their fight against the so-called Mother of Dragons.   _Mayhaps once Stannis has been defeated and Lord Connington has been avenged.  For now I must needs turn my attention North..._

As Aegon prepared to retire for the night, there was a knock at the door and Ser Vortimer Crane entered the room.  

"Your Grace, I –" said Ser Vortimer.  

“What is it, Ser?”  

“It would seem that Lady Sansa has been growing restless.  She seeks to venture beyond the walls of Storm’s End."  

"Mayhaps in time, if the Stark girl proves herself loyal and does as she’s bid, I shall permit her that much.  For now though, she must needs remain in the capitol.  I cannot risk the girl slipping through our fingers.  Lady Sansa is far too important to my conquest.  Jon Snow may be an oath-breaking bastard, but the North will never support us unless we can produce someone with a better claim to Winterfell.  Robb Stark is dead along with both of his brothers.  The youngest Stark girl was never found, but Lord Varys assured me that she is dead too.  The Spider has reported that most Northmen appear to consider Lady Sansa more Lannister than Stark, but he believes that they might still return to the fold once I nullify her marriage to the giant of Casterly Rock.  Apparently, their marriage was never consummated.  Once that has been done and we have made certain that the girl will cooperate, I shall send a raven to every Northern house informing them of my intent to put a true-born Stark in Winterfell,” Aegon replied.  

"But Your Grace, you already issued a proclamation naming Lord Bolton as your Warden of the North."  

"It was merely an attempt to give the Northmen who remain loyal to my House a rallying point.  And the man spat in my face when I issued the proclamation besides.  Lord Connington advised me to ask the bastard first, but who could have imagined that the fool would reject my offer.  The beast sent me a raven with a message in which he threatened to flay me if I ever set foot in the North.  I think I’ll have the Dreadfort torn down once I have stolen the North out from under Stannis Baratheon and his fire God.  Might as well burn the bloody savage too, while I’m at it.”   _The whispers are not always wrong.  I needn’t always ignore the voices.  They know how to deal with a man like that bastard.  Mayhaps I should heed them more often..._

Aegon sipped his wine.  He had taken to the cups recently and found that wine oft helped him sleep...even if it always made the whispers worse the next day.  “All that remains is for Queen Arianne to give me an heir and I have already gotten her with child.  May the Seven favor me with a son.”


	32. Reek

“Isn't it beautiful, Reek,” asked Ramsay as the ship sailed past what might have been the Wall.  

“It...it is...yes, v-very beautiful, master,” Reek replied.  All Theon Greyjoy could see was a frozen wasteland, but Reek knew better than to listen to the bad man’s whispers. _If Ram...Lord Bolton thinks it beautiful, then it must be beautiful.  Master is never wrong!  He’ll...he’ll have to punish me if I listen to the bad man’s lies._

They had left the Dreadfort two days after a soldier who had survived the Battle of Winterfell told Ramsay that Stannis and the evil men who served him had taken his father away from him.  That was the one time Reek had ever seen his master weep and he had considered himself lucky to have only lost an ear that day.   _A master needs his Reek, just as a Reek needs his master; Lord Ramsay always said so.  He’ll never let me die...not like Damon Dance for Me_ , Theon thought to himself sadly.   _Leave me alone, Theon!  You can’t fool me!  I’m Reek, not Theon!  Always and forever!_

_Master already has a Reek.  He did not need a Damon._ When Damon Dance for Me japed about Roose Bolton’s death and referred to Ramsay’s father as ‘that old bastard,’ the new Lord of the Dreadfort punished him worse than he had ever punished his Reek.  He had Damon Dance for Me’s eyes gouged out, unmanned him, forced the man to eat his own stones, flayed every inch of skin off of his body, and given what was left to the dogs.   _Damon Dance for Me was a fool; only master is allowed to speak ill of Lord Roose.  No one else!  And you must not say bast...that word around master or he’ll hurt you!  Never!  Never!  Never!  Even the bad man is afraid of what master would do if he ever heard me speak that word...if he ever heard me think that word._

The day after Lord Ramsay finished punishing Damon Dance for Me, he named Skinner Castellan of the Dreadfort and set sail for... _It does not matter where we are going.  Master knows!  He...he always knows...  Master knows everything.  He knew when the bad man tricked me into trying to escape.  He’ll know if Theon Grey...if the bad man comes back.  He’ll know if I smile._  Lord Ramsay hated Reek’s smiles, rare as they were.   _They remind him of the bad man.  That’s why he has to pull out a tooth every time he sees one.  He only does it because I leave him no choice.  A Reek should not smile, master said so.  And_ _Master hates repeating himself!_

_I don’t want to be disloyal; it’s the bad man who makes me do it_ , Reek thought to himself sadly.   _Master is kind and generous and merciful.  I want to be a good Reek.  Forever and ever and ever and..._

_Master would not have left the Dreadfort without a good reason.  Master would not hurt his Reek without a good reason.  He would not have let Sour Alyn beat me last night if I hadn’t made him.  Master always has a reason!_

To his surprise, Reek found that that he missed the Dreadfort.  Theon certainly believed it had been far warmer there than it was in this white, icy wasteland.   _NO!  The bad man can't fool me!  Those are disloyal thoughts and I am a loyal Reek, always and forever.  Master said it was beautiful beyond the Wall.  Please go away, Theon!  Go away before master sees you!  Please!_

Myranda's belly had been growing larger by day and Reek oft wondered how long would it take for the bas – _No!  No!  No! Not that word!  Never that world!  Never even think that word or else master will know and...and...and...  Master's son will be another Lord Bolton._ Reek and Theon both knew that the child would probably not live very long, but so far as the former was concerned it was a highborn, all the same.  

“If I were to go very far, Reek, would you follow me,” asked Ramsay.  

“Of c-c-course, master.  The bad man can’t fool me!  A Reek should always follow its master.  Always and forever,” Reek replied, hoping he had given the right answer.  

“Good.  We are taking a trip to somewhere far, far away.  I don't know when we will return home, but we will return someday soon, don’t you think?”  

“Where are we going, master?”  

“No, Reek, wrong question...”   _Wrong?  Have I been a disloyal Reek?  The bad man must have made me do it.  Now master will have to punish me again and...and..._

“The right question,” Ramsay continued, “is why are we going beyond the Wall?  Tell me, Reek, do you know why all Boltons have blue eyes?”  

“N-n-no, m-master.”  

 “Don’t worry, you’ll find out soon enough...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listening to "Santa Claus is coming to town" really helped get me in the right mood for this chapter. It's quite a terrifying song in a surreal sort of way if you replace "Santa Claus" with "Ramsay Bolton." Ramsay could be the Krampus of Westeros LOL


	33. Jorah

Ser Jorah Mormont was not surprised when the unsullied came for him.  The Queen had sought his counsel more than ever before during the past few weeks.  He still took the time to put on his armor, just as he did before every council meeting.   _I trust the Iron Born not at all and this Greyjoy woman less than most._  The war with the Free Cities had taken a great toll on the Queen’s army and they had been forced to use some of the untrained unsullied from Astapoor.  While the lack of proper training would have made any Westerosi solider near useless, the unsullied were among the finest fighters in Planetos and they had just proven it by crushing all but two of the Free Cities.  

Daenerys Targaryen, the Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons, had acquired a new title after they captured Myr: Dragon Queen of the Narrow Sea.   _We have won several great victories: The unsullied captured Volantis and Lys burned.  Even that wretched squid managed to capture Tyrosh...although not before sacking the city and putting a great many innocents to the sword_ , the Bear thought to himself, frowning.   _Bloody Iron Born..._

_I fear the journey will only grow more more challenging in the days ahead.  Our enemies remain as powerful as they are numerous.  And the ones in Essos were never going to be half so dangerous as the ones on the other side of the Narrow Sea.  The Baratheons...the Starks...the Lannisters...the false Dragon...they are all serpents waiting for the right moment to strike.  And some of them may not even wait that long..._

True to her word, the Mother of Dragons had driven slavery from Slaver’s Bay.  Even Braavos and Pentos – the only two cities which remained unconquered – had outlawed slavery in hopes of appeasing the Breaker of Chains, although Jorah suspected that the reality in both cities was quite different. _It would seem that the Kraken and I can agree on that much, if little else._  However, the Queen was growing ever more eager to return to Westeros and seemed to take rulers of Braavos and Pentos at their word.  

_The Queen meant well when she promised to give me back Bear Island and mayhaps even Longclaw, but it will not be easy to face my family and take back what now belongs to them.  Mayhaps…_

_No!  The thought alone is treason.  The Queen will return to Westeros and I shall be by her side.  Always._

“Your Grace.”  

"Ser Jorah, good to see you. I trust that you slept well.”  

“Yes, Your Grace.”  

“Good.”  

It wasn’t the entire Regency Council that the Shavepate had put in place, but the important were there: The Kraken, Ser Barristan, Groleo, and Grey Worm.  

“The time has come for us to move,” said Asha, studying a map of Planetos.  “There is nothing left for us in the East.  Not unless the Mother of Dragons will permit to sail to Braavos and end this mummer’s farce of –”   _She truly can’t bring herself to call the Queen ‘Your Grace,’_ Jorah though to himself with the smallest of smiles.  

“If I might intercede, Your Grace,” interrupted Groleo, earning a scowl from the Kraken.  “It is not necessary for us to go through Braavos and Pentos to reach Westeros.  We could easily take the longer route by sea and land at Sunspear.”    

“I’d sooner raid Braavos and loot the Iron Bank,” Asha replied.   

“I will not have a repeat of the massacre at Tyrosh.  We are not thieves.  Is that understood, Princess Asha,” asked the Queen in a tone which made it clear that it was a command rather than a question.  

  The Kraken – never one to simper, bow, or grovel – angrily stormed out of the room.  

“That would certainly be the more sound strategy, Your Grace,” replied Ser Barristan.  

“And what of the Free Cities, Your Grace,” asked the Shavepate.  

“You and those on Benerro’s regency council who were unable to attend this meeting shall rule the Free Cities in my absence.”  

“Thank you, Your Grace, you do me a great honor,” the Shavepate replied.  

_I trust those men not at all.  Not Benerro’s claims of pious devotion nor his mad ravings about Azor Ahai.  Not Daario Neharis...a sellsword who knows little and less about how to rule.  Not the Shavepate who oft speaks of putting everyone who wasn’t a slave to the sword.  At best, the Regency Council of Essos will fare no better than those in Astapor and Yunkai.  And yet I fear we may not be even that fortunate.  Not with that lot, at least.  It does not matter.  The Queen has plainly made her decision.  We will be traveling to Westeros and soon._


	34. Reek

Myranda had been screaming for two days.  Again and again, her screams echoed through the forest.  There was no escaping from them.  Hearing so many screams reminded Reek of the day when he had pretended to be the bad man so that master could take Moat Cailin and kill the evil creatures from the Iron Islands who had stolen it from House Bolton...although not even those screams were half so loud.  Myranda had struggled to walk during the past few days and by the time they reached found an abandoned Wildling hut, she was due.  

At first, Reek had been afraid of what might happen...of how Lord Ram – _master_ – would react to such a situation.  And yet the Lord of the Dreadfort had said not a word.  He simply smiled.  He had been smiling since the first scream and he would not stop doing it.   _It is not a happy smile.  A happy man does not smile that way, only a mad...  NO!  A Reek should not think such disloyal thoughts about its master!  I am a good and loyal Reek, always and forever!  Go away, Theon!  Stop trying to trick me into being disloyal.  You can’t fool me!_

They had marched through the snow for days.  Yet if Lord Ramsay had noticed the cold or been affected by the hunger that the rest of the men oft complained of, he showed no sign.  It was almost as though a greater power were giving him whatever strength he needed to go on.  Reek himself had no use for such things. _A Reek should not be strong.  Reek, it rhymes with weak...just like master said.  I will not abandon my master though.  A master needs his Reek just as a Reek needs its master.  And if I fall behind, master will have to punish me for being a disloyal Reek._

Lord Ramsay had already punished one man for collapsing from hunger.   _He opened Grunt’s throat and made me eat the meat off one of the dead man’s fingers.  The bad man can’t fool me!  If it made master happy, then it made me happy.  No!  Master said a Reek shouldn’t be happy.  Never!  Never!  Never!  But Reek was having a lucky day and his master was not looking at him.  No.  Master knows...he knows everything!  Master is just being merciful.  That is why he is watching Myranda instead of punishing me._

“IT...IT W-WON’T COME OUT,” Myranda screamed.  

“Come again?”  

“Stuck...HELP...I”  

Lord Ramsay’s face began to twitch ever so slightly.  Reek knew what it meant when his master’s face twitched.   _He is angry.  He is going to punish her.  He..._

“Hmm...well then I suppose we’ll just have to help it along, won’t we?  Sour Alyn, fetch me my hunting knife.  NOW or you will become meat for the Wildlings,” snapped Ramsay.  Sour Alyn was plainly a loyal man as he brought the knife to the Lord of the Dreadfort in a matter of seconds.”  

“You have stayed with me, Reek.  It would seem that you have become quite a loyal pet.”  

“I...I do what I can, master.”  

“Myranda appears to be in quite a bit of pain,” the Lord of the Dreadfort replied, ignoring the screams as they grew more and more desperate.  “Mayhaps it is my duty to relieve her of that pain.  What do you think, Reek?”  

“I...I...you are a...merciful Lord, master.”  

“I suppose I am, Reek.  I suppose I am...”  

“Myranda,” said Lord Ramsay, “you may recall that I have a good deal of experience with this sort of thing.  You remember Fat Walda, don’t you?  How I cut the baby out of that fat whore and gave it to the –”  

“NO!  NO,” Myranda screamed.  

“If that baby isn’t out of you by the time I finish counting to ten, I’m going to cut it out of you.  I suppose you’ll die, most like.  Oh well, we all have to make small sacrifices.  One.  Two.  Three...”  

Reek left the tent as the screams grew even louder...before finally stopping completely shortly before Lord Ramsay emerged from the tent.  The Lord of the Dreadfort and the baby in his arms were both splattered with blood.  

As soon as the baby began to cry, it seemed as though the forest itself began to shake as all of the crows flew away from the place.  Reek could see a small puddle of blood dripping from his master’s clothes...blood that froze like red ice the moment it touched the ground.  And whatever lived in the forest started to howl…  


	35. Arya

_That hill wasn’t there before_ , Arya thought to herself, biting her lip.  The North was still the North, but everything was different.   _I will get there!  I have to, I..._

Arya oft dreamt about the last time that she had come this close to being re-united with her family.  The dreams were the same every night.  The laughter of Robb’s men would turn to screams.  She’d see Grey Wind’s head sewn onto her brother’s body as men died and the flames licked the skies.  In the dreams, Arya always knew that she could still save her mother...but before she could, a monster with the head of a snarling dog would hit her in the back of the head with his axe and she'd see her mother’s rotting corpse lying on the riverbank.   _I should have been there.  I could have saved her...somehow_ , Arya thought to herself as she bit her lip to keep from crying.

Arya knew that Robb probably wouldn’t have paid a ransom for her.  She knew that her mother wouldn’t have wanted her back so long as her stitches remained crooked and her hair was all tangled up in knots.  Even so, she would have given anything to see them again for even a few minutes before the Red Wedding. _I was so close..._  

She was returning to Winterfell with calloused feet and lightning-fast reflexes.  She could lie like a Faceless Man, speak Braavosi...and she had killed men.   _Will Jon still want me back after the things I’ve done?  No one should want me...not anymore.  Even if Jon won’t smile at me or mess up my hair anymore, he might still pretend not to care what I’ve done.  Maybe..._

In White Harbor, she had used one of the gold dragons she’d stolen to buy a small fishing skiff from a man who lived off the White Knife and sold his daily catch at one of the city’s markets.  Once she thought she'd sailed far enough up the river, Arya left the skiff and struck west on foot.   _Maybe I didn't row far enough.  If I turn back, I could still reach the White Knife before dawn._

As she climbed another hill, Arya’s thoughts turned to the House of Black and White.   _Will they send a faceless man to kill me?  Will I die like the guardsmen who supped on Weasel soup?_  The Kindly Man had tried to force her to forget about Arya of House Stark.  She had been an ugly, blind girl for months and sold clams as the Cat of the Canals.   _I am Arya of House Stark.  I promised the Kindly Man that Arya of House Stark was dead_ , she remembered, biting her lip.  She finally reached the top of the hill and there it was: Winterfell.  

Arya’s heart was beating so loudly that it felt as though there were drums pounding in her ears.  I'm almost there!  I will get there!  She raced down the hill, running faster and faster.  By the time Arya reached the castle’s walls, she was out of breath and her skin was shining with sweat, despite the cold winter air.  Hundreds of men and women moved about, hard at work restoring the castle.  She could see the singes of flames along the walls.   _They're rebuilding it._

She quickly made her way around the castle to the gate by the kingsroad.  There was a thicket of trees on either side of the road.  As she got closer to the edge of the trees, she stopped.  The air seemed to grow colder and the snow turned into ice all around her.   _Someone is following me._  Arya turned around, but all she saw was a raven perched on a tree branch, staring at her with the bluest eyes that she had ever seen.  The bird looked dead, but it squawked at her and flew away.   _Stupid bird._

Suddenly, she heard voices in the distance.  A white shape crept through the trees and made its way to her.   _Ghost!_   Arya stroked the direwolf's head and scratched behind his right ear.  He began licking her face and soon she was laughing like the girl she had been the day that her brothers brought Nymeria home to her.  

“You found me,” Arya shouted.  

"Aye, we found you,” said a voice.  She turned around and saw two large men.  Ghost appeared unconcerned by their presence.  

"She's pretty, in her own sort of way," said the second man.  Arya couldn’t help wondering why he was making fun of her.   _Sansa was the pretty one, everyone always said so.  I’m just..._

“Sure, why not?  Got a nice northern look to her if ya ask me.  Bella will be pleased," the first man replied.  

"Bella?”  

"Me wife.  Lord Stark has honored her with management of the kitchens and she's in need of a new kitchen wench.  You'll do just fine, me thinks."  

"She'll do just fine for what," asked another voice.  Ghost bolted forward as a third man came into view.  He was wearing simple armor, but had a wolf cloak fastened around his neck.  

"Duncan here's found us a new kitchen wench for your castle, m'lord Stark," said the second man.  

_Father?  No, that's stupid._  The man had the Stark look, but it couldn’t be her father.   _Ser Illyn cut off his head in King’s Landing._  Arya continued to study the man’s face and his eyes eventually met hers.  She did not know whether it took seconds, minutes, or even hours.  All that Arya knew was that she’d found her answer in the man’s eyes.  

Hours later, after the laughter and the crying, the hugging and the shouting, the eating and the drinking...after the first man had fallen to his knees and begged her forgiveness while the second man doubled over laughing, Arya Stark fell asleep in the castle that she called home.   _Father was right.  In the winter, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives._  She had found her pack.  She had come home.  And earlier that day, outside the gates of Winterfell, she had finally met Lord Jon Stark.  


	36. Reek

As the night ended and the sun rose, Reek felt a strange sense of relief.  His master had never forbidden him to feel relief, even if he wasn’t allowed to be happy.  At first, Reek had missed the warmth of the Dreadfort, but that was before he saw how pleased his master was to be beyond the Wall.   _Master knows where we are going.  Master knows everything.  We wouldn’t be here unless he had a reason and master always has a reason._  Of late, Lord Ramsay had not even bothered to punish Reek for letting the bad man trick him into thinking disloyal thoughts.  All the Lord of the Dreadfort seemed to care about was keeping his son alive and reaching whatever place they had been marching towards.  Reek had learned not to count the days that passed.  Instead, he counted the men that were gone...  

Lord Bolton had left the Dreadfort with a large group of men, but as the days grew shorter, the nights longer, and the howls from deep within the forest became louder and louder the men began to disappear one by one.  Some like Locke simply disappeared without a trace.  Not every man vanished so quietly though.  Two nights ago, Reek had heard Sour Alyn’s screams echoing through forest.  Everyone disappeared until the only ones left were Lord Ramsay, Reek, and the future Lord Bolton in his arms.  If Lord Bolton had noticed any of this, he showed no sign.  He would simply keep walk and walk, staring at the trees as though he were looking for something.  

“Do you think it ever stops being white, Reek,” asked Ramsay.  “It’s always white in this forest.  Don’t you think it would look better in pink or red?”  

“Yes, m-master,” Reek replied. _If master thinks the snow should be red, then it should be red.  Master is never wrong!_  

“Good.  I imagine we’ll be seeing quite a bit of red snow once we return to Winterfell.  I suppose I shall be needing a new son.  Hopefully at least one of those wolf cunts is still alive.  The one Myranda gave me simply will not do if I am to make father proud and honor his wishes.  If I am to do all that he said I must to truly become his son.  To erase all memory of that little shit his fat whore.”  

“I – ”  

“Have you ever heard of the Others, Reek?”  

“No…I mean y-yes, master.”   _They rode dead horses and had spiders as big as hounds…_  

“They’re here.  Hiding in the snow, watching our every move.  We shall meet them soon, I think.”  

“And we...we...”  

“Don’t worry, Reek.  It’s not what you think.  I didn’t come all this way to get myself killed.  That’s what the other men were for...what Myranda’s son is for.  We must all make sacrifices.”  

“Of course, master.  But – ”  

“Did you know that the first Night’s King was a Bolton?”   

“N-n-no, Master.  I –”  

“The way I see it, if one Bolton can rule the Others, why can’t a second?  I believe we shall have a very important part to play in the coming winter, you and I.”  

“Yes, master.”  

...  

“We should be there any second,” said Ramsay.  

As they walked, Reek heard an odd chant coming from the forest, although he did not understand any of the words.  It was only a whisper at first, but it quickly grew louder and louder.  Soon there were dozens of voices chanting.  

“Here.”  

“Master?”  

“This is the place, Reek.”  

There were no trees in this part of the forest...only a large, flat stone that was shaped like a cradle.  The Lord of the Dreadfort placed his crying son on top of the stone.  Lord Bolton smiled and then he started to laugh once the first of the Others emerged from the forest.   _They were real…  Master knew they were real.  Master knows everything.  The bad man can’t trick me into running!  Master...he...he wouldn’t come here without a reason!  He knows...he has to know...he...they’re real!_

Pale and blue-eyed, wearing armor that Reek had never seen before, more and more of the Others emerged from the woods.  They quickly surrounded Reek and Lord Ramsay...and then one stepped forward.  

“Master –”  

“Silence! This is a special occasion.”  

An Other with a crown of spikes coming out of his head slowly walked toward the baby, taking it in his arms.  He put his index finger on the child’s cheek and Reek saw the infant’s skin turn as pale as the rest of the Others.  The creature then approached gave the child to one of his warriors and gestured for Lord Ramsay to approach him.  The Lord of the Dreadfort walked towards the Other step by step and it touched his face with its index finger.  

Reek watched as his master’s skin turned as white as the moon and his eyes…they became the bluest thing that Reek had ever seen.  Some men might have thought that they were the eyes of a dead man, but Reek could see that his master had never been so alive.  Reek fell to his knees as one of the Others approached him, but Lord Ramsay said something in that strange language the Others seemed to speak and the creature left him alone.   _Why have I been spared?_

“Lord Ramsay, I...I...”  

“No, Reek,” Ramsay replied.  “Not Lord...not Ramsay!  Not any more.  That name is...wrong.  It...it is not a name fit for...fit for...  It is not...that name is not of the winter.  We have our own...I...I have a new...  My name...my name is Dulrihan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear, this is still the same Ramsay we all know and love to hate. I just figured the Others probably have their own culture, names, etc (seems ripe for fanfic exploration imo, given how little we really know about them). The way I see it, species loyalty and a person's name probably change pretty quickly after someone becomes an Other. However, if you're old enough to have your own identity before the change (i.e. you're not a baby), one's personality doesn't really change much at all and some memories may take quite some time to fade away (others might disappear much more quickly). Dulrihan is basically just what the Others would call Ramsay.


	37. Tyrion

Tyrion sat in his solar, rolling and unrolling the message.  Much and more had happened in the weeks following the destruction of King’s Landing.  It was still too painful to think about Lannisport...about his nuncle’s death.  He tried to turn his attention to other matters.  

_Dragon or bastard, the King in Storm’s End is plainly a fool.  His attempts to nullify my marriage are toothless so long as he lacks the support of the High Septon._  Even so, the news that Lady Sansa was a hostage at Storm’s End – under protective custody, according to the boy King of the Stormlands – had been a most unwelcome surprise.   _I should have had the bloody Spider thrown into the sea when I had the chance._  Worse yet, Princess Myrcella had been sent to Storm’s End once the Martells declared for Aegon.  He re-read the message from Lannisport.  

Ser Daven had managed to drive the Iron Born from the charred ruins of the city, but the Lord of Casterly Rock found that the victory left a bitter taste in his mouth.   _It will not bring Kevan back.  He’s dead because I sent him away.  I never meant for any harm to come to him, but men will say that I have near as much of my nuncle’s blood on my hands as the bloody Iron Born, Others take them.  If my sweet sister were still alive, I imagine she’d ask why I couldn’t have been content with killing our mother_ , Tyrion thought to himself bitterly as he tossed the parchment into the fire.  He watched it crinkle and turn to ash.  

He could at least take comfort in the knowledge that Aegon Targaryen and his allies had been dealt a crippling blow not long ago.  Daenarys Targaryen – or someone claiming to be her – had somehow caught Dorne by surprise, captured Sunspear, and taken every member of House Martell hostage, save for Trystane and Arianne who were fortunate enough to be in Storm’s End.   _At this rate, Rhaegar Targaryen should turn up any day.  I suppose it’s not worst thing that could have happened.  For the moment, it would seem that the dragons are too busy ripping out each other’s throats to turn their attention to the Westerlands.  And yet if there really were dragons in Sunspear...  No, it’s not possible_ , he decided.  There was a knock at the door and Tyrion turned to see Jaime entering the room.  

"Must we go through this again, dear brother?  I’m quite certain I have your arguments memorized by now," said Tyrion.  “It is bad enough that you refuse to fight for his claim,” Jaime replied.  I can understand your reasons for that, at least, but –”  

“His claim?  You of all people should not be speaking about Tommen’s claim to the Iron Throne.  Seven Hells, Jaime, fight with what?  We don’t even have anywhere near half the men we had before your first son was crowned.”  

“Careful, brother.  I may be the only member of our family who ever cared for you, but be careful.  And I said that I could understand why you won’t fight for his claim.  What don’t understand is why you would consent to giving Tommen and Myrcella the surname Waters.  How can you abandon them like that?  You would strip them of all lands, titles, and incomes.”  

“I’m trying to save them,” Tyrion snapped.  “You know as well as I do that Stannis is willing to make peace with our House so long as we declare for him.  And you also know that he demanded that they either be executed or formally acknowledged as bastards with no claim to the Iron Throne.  So long as they remain Baratheons, they will both lose their heads...and we will too, most like.  They will still be provided for and live in Casterly Rock with every comfort imaginable.  And it will mean one less King trying to burn every member of our House.  I won’t have any more Lannisters die for their parent’s mistakes.”  

“It was not that simple.  Cersei and I didn’t have any choice.  You can’t choose...I...we didn’t know...”  

"You always have a choice.  And Cersei knew exactly what she was doing, even if you didn’t realize what she was.”  

“Father died trying to build...”  

“If one more person tells me that I need to remember all that father did for House Lannister and that nothing matters except for protecting his legacy, I’m like to go mad.  Father die for our House and he it wasn’t poisoned wine that killed him. It was his pride and arrogance.  I made that mistake once and it got our nuncle killed.  I will not make it again, and neither will you.  Not when Tommen and Myrcella’s lives are at stake.  I already sent Stannis my reply earlier today, so there is no reason to continue discussing the matter.  It is done, Jaime.  

Oh and one other thing, dear brother.  Lest you require any further proof that I am acting with Tommen and Myrcella’s best interests at heart, I suppose I should tell you that I have a plan to get my beloved niece back to Casterly Rock.”


	38. Baelor

The days went by and Baelor Blacktyde did the bidding of his master, just like the rest of the Euron’s tongueless thralls.  He had helped take care of the _Silence_ and the Crow’s Eye would not settle for a ship that was anything less than the finest in the entire Iron Fleet.  The warlocks would oft mock Baelor and his fellow mutes as they constantly re-painted the deck red.  Had he been able to speak, even Blacktyde would’ve had to admit that the _Silence_ was among the most fearsome ships he’d ever seen.   _Others take the Crow’s Eye.  Him and his damned warlocks.  I won’t forget who I am like the rest of the bloody mutes...no more than I’ll ever forgive the one-eyed bastard for what he did to me.  I won’t forget that Victarion knelt before the Crow’s Eye either.  He grovels before that madman like a whipped dog hoping for scraps from its master’s table.  Even after what the beast did to him..._

Victarion became one of Euron’s loyalist followers after the King of the Iron Islands promised him Oldtown.   _I never knelt before the Crow’s Eye.  Not even after the son of a whore cut out my tongue..._

_Death would have been better than this_ , Baelor thought to himself bitterly.  T _here is still honor in a clean death.  There is no dignity in serving as a mute slave aboard a madman’s ship.  I will not forget who I am!  Someday I shall have my revenge and when that day comes, I’ll have Euron’s other bloody eye out.  I swear it by the Old Gods and the New!_

_Every one of the bloody Iron Born have seen me painting this wretched ship’s deck.  Even if I outlive that one-eyed cunt, I’ll still be nothing but a mute slave on some other bastard’s ship.  I will kill the Crow’s Eye, but I must needs be slain by an enemy as soon as I have so.  It will be my last chance at an honorable death._  

Suddenly, he saw a dragon flying high above the ship. _Seven Hells, the Crow’s Eye was right.  There are dragons flying over the narrow sea.  He was right about ..._  Without wasting another second, the mute raced towards the deck. The dumb bastard keeps the horn on display, he...  

“Halt,” snapped one of the warlocks.  “You are not allowed up here, slave.” _Try and stop me you blue-lipped cunt._

For all of their supposed might, the warlocks were useless in hand-to-hand combat.  The mute sent the blue-lipped bastard tumbling to the ground with a single blow and didn’t even bother trying to hide the body.  He simply ran to the dragon horn, took a deep breath, and blew into it.  

Aaaarrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeee!  

Aaaarrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!  

Aaaaarrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!  

The ship itself seemed to shake as cracks began to appear in the wood.  The mute’s chest felt as though it were about to burst into flame.   _I will not die!  Not yet.  Soon it will all be over, but not yet..._

“It’s over Blacktyde,” Euron shouted from somewhere on the deck.  “You’ve only doomed yourself.  You may have blown the horn, but I am its master.  The dragon still belongs to me, you dumb bastard.”  

Both men heard a loud roar and turned to see an enormous beast racing towards the _Silence_ , flapping its wings.  They were staring at a dragon...Balerion the Dread incarnate.  

“He is mine, Blacktyde,” Euron snapped.  “Dragon, take me away from the _Silence_ and burn this son of a whore.”  

The dragon simply stared at the Crow’s Eye and Baelor knew that he had won.   _The horn answers to the power of blood and blood alone._  The mute slowly raised his right hand and used the last of his strength to point his index finger at Euron, commanding the black beast for the first and final time.  The dragon opened its mouth and turned the _Silence_ into a flaming hell.


	39. The Spider

The Queen sounded just like Elia Martell during childbirth.  The Spider had waited upon Princess Elia too when she gave birth to the King.  Afterward, one of his little birds informed him that Grand Maester Pycelle had told the crown prince that the child would not live to see its first name day.  Prince Rhaegar had responded by insisting that “the dragon must have three heads,” or some such non-sense.  

"Might I suggest a small cup of sweetsleep, Your Grace,” asked Varys.  “Or mayhaps milk of the poppy?  It will help with the pain."  

"No, it...it could hurt the baby," Arianne replied.  

An hour later, the Spider excused himself and made his way to the courtyard, where squires were practicing with blunted swords.  The sight of blood had been upsetting his stomach, and it would’ve been a great offense to retch in front of the Queen.  

"Lord Varys," shouted a voice from across the yard.  The Spider turned and saw Illyrio Mopatis approaching him, awkwardly attempting to hold his stomach in with one hand.  Behind him rode a retinue of five knights.  Twenty sparrows followed on foot, but one in particular caught the Master of Whisperers' attention.  An exceptionally tall man with blue eyes and short, golden hair.   _One wonders how the Seven could have possibly created anyone half so ugly._

“I fear I must apologize, old friend.  Were it my decision, you would be Master of Coin,” said Varys.  

"Our kingly friend would honor his fellow Westerosi before me.  I do not complain.  You needn’t worry about the footless fanatics, my friend.  They merely wish to give the blessings of the Seven once it is done," Illyrio replied.  

"As you say.”  

"How goes the Queen's labor?"  

"She is strong and one would imagine that she will survive –"  

A scream from the Queen’s chamber echoed through the yard.  One of the Spider’s little birds walked over to him with a note.  It contained only one sentence, but filled the Master of Whisperers with dread all the same.  “She is born.”   _She?  If the Queen has another daughter after this one, it could mean all of our deaths._  

As the knights, Lords, and ladies made their way to the great hall, Varys approached the Queen.  "Your Grace, my little birds tell me that the king's banners are not far from Storm's End.  He should be here by tomorrow morning,” said Varys.  

...  

"We shall have a feast tonight to celebrate,” the Queen proclaimed, addressing the crowd that had assembled in the great hall.  Lord Varys tells me my royal husband's banners will arrive on the morrow."  

"What's her name,” Prince Trystane asked his sister.  

“Visenya.”  

Varys took his seat on the dais as the beat of the drums grew louder and louder.  DOOM. DOOM. DOOM.  There was an empty chair next to the Queen in case the King reached Storm’s End earlier than expected.  The Spider noticed Ser Franklyn Fossoway and the tall, ugly sparrow he’d seen in the courtyard walking down the corridor that led to the privy.   _My little birds say that Ser Fossoway always uses the privy twice a day.  No more and no less...like a broken sun clock._  

...  

After seven courses, Vargs considered excusing himself, but he knew that the Queen liked to keep him nearby.  Lady Myrcella approached the dais to ask Arianne if she could take her leave.  Varys saw the Queen reply, but couldn't hear her answer over the noise. _Where is Ser Franklyn?_  The music died as Arianne rose to cut the massive pigeon pie that the servants had just brought into the hall.  

"With this cut," declared the Queen, "we honor the birth of our dear Princess, my daughter, Visenya Targaryen."  All of those in attendance applauded.  Varys finally found Ser Franklyn, leaning against the wall in the shadows, no less than ten feet from Lady Sansa's table.  

Arianne brought down a large knife and the crust of the pie burst open and the Spider saw something move.   _No, that can't be Ser Franklyn._  It was the ugly sparrow's blonde hair sticking out from the back of the helm that gave it away.   _How did he...I like this not at all._  Lord Varys rose to find Areoh Hotah, but before he could, a shrill scream echoed through the room.  He looked at the pie and saw steam rising in the air as Ser Franklyn Fossoway’s head rolled out and landed with a thud at the Queen’s feet.  

The entire hall burst into complete chaos.  There was shouting and pushing.  The Queen was screaming along with half of her ladies.  The other half were sobbing uncontrollably.  Nearly every man in the room had drawn his blade and a few servants were even vomiting.  

"Ser Areo," said the Spider, "you should see Princess Visenya safely to the Queen's chambers."  

"Make sure that Lady Myrcella and the Stark girl are still in their chambers," replied the Lord Commander of the King’s Guard.  

...  

_I saved Lady Sansa from the Joffrey in King's Landing.  She has to know that she is safer within these walls than she will ever be outside of them._ He climbed the stairs to Myrcella Baratheon's tower cell.  

_At least the door is still barred, mayhaps she is still here._  Varys slipped a key into the door and opened it to find that the chamber was empty. _I feared as much._

_This is plainly Lord Tyrion’s work.  I knew he was plotting something once my little birds at Casterly Rock stopped singing me songs entirely.  I don’t know how he knew about them, but at least this is the worst of it.  Mayhaps there is even time enough to re-capture the girl before she escapes from Storm’s End.  And even if they have Lady Myrcella, surely they won’t declare for Stannis or Daenarys.  One would hope that Lord Tyrion realizes that those two are far more likely to burn them than King Aegon._

"Find Myrcella," Varys snapped at one of his little birds before making his way to the Stark girl’s chamber.  Sansa had been staying below ground, in a large chamber that was one level above the castle's prisoner cells.   _She is still here most like, but the girl is far more important than Lady Myrcella.  I must needs be certain that she is still in her chambers where she belongs._

Suddenly, he heard footsteps and turned to see three people race through the corridor at the other end of the hall.  

"It's this way," a young woman’s voice whispered. _Sansa!  Seven Hells, how could she know about Storm's End's entrance by sea, deep below the castle.  If she slips through our fingers, the North will be permanently lost to Stannis and the Tyrells would think nothing of switching sides if the tide of the war turned against us.  And now that our enemies know her marriage to Lord Tyrion was never consumated..._

"Sansa! Lady Sansa! Sansa," Varys shouted.  There was no answer save for the faint sound of footsteps somewhere in the distance.  By the time the Spider walked through the hidden entrance, there was nothing to see except the outline of a rowboat disappearing into the mist that had fallen over Shipbreaker Bay.  

The chaos had begun to die down by the time the Spider returned to the great hall.  The queen was up in her chambers and people had begun to flee from the castle. Rats always know a sinking ship when they see one, he thought to himself bitterly.  

He was about to make his way up to the Queen's chambers to inform her that the two girls had disappeared when he heard the beating of horse hooves.  A horn was blown and roughly fifty riders charged into the yard.  Ser Vortimer was leading them, his face as dark as the night itself.  

"Ser Vortimer. What...where is the King," asked Varys.  He noticed that two corpses – both wearing blood-stained white cloaks – being lowered the ground by several of the riders.  

"Ser Hightower and Ser Allyrion?  Seven Hells, what happened?"  

"The King went mad," Ser Vortimer replied.  "The Vale crushed us at Rosby and chased us out of the Crownlands.  When the King heard men whispering that House Tyrell might withdraw its support, he...he killed two members of his own King’s guard before taking his own life.  The King is dead."  

_Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead._  The word echoed through the Spider’s mind over and over again and he felt tears roll down his cheeks.   _Everything I worked for...everything I've done...it was all for nothing._

“There may still be another way, my friend,” Illyrio whispered.  “But I fear you will have to set aside your hatred of those who use magic if we are to venture down this road.  I like it no more than you will, but the other dragon may be our last chance.”  Varys looked at his oldest friend for a moment and slowly nodded his head.


	40. Aegon

Aegon stood at the edge of the camp that his men had set up for the night.  He looked north and saw the fires of the Arryn-Baratheon-Royce army.  He looked south and heard the sound of dragons flapping their wings.  He had been lost in his cups since sunrise and the sun had set hours ago.  

A squire approached with a roll of parchment...a letter from one of his spies in Highgarden.  Aegon snatched it from the fool’s hand and dismissed the boy.   _Useless idiot, they all are...and those that aren’t are traitors._  He tore of the seal and read the message.  He tore it to pieces after reading the first line: "Your Grace, the Roses have turned on us."  The king looked West and saw Randyll Tarly’s army marching towards the Stormlands, no doubt hoping to curry favor with Stannis Baratheon.  

"I AM THE KING," Aegon screamed.  “I AM A TARGARYEN!  I WAS BORN TO RULE!"  The three Kingsguard knights who had accompanied him on his attempt to invade the Vale all came running up the hill to him, swords drawn.   _Bloody traitors.  The plan was sound.  I would have taken Gulltown by now were my camp not crawling with rats.  Stannis may still be near Winterfell, but the fall of Gulltown – the Usurper’s capitol – would have been the beginning of the end.  The Usurper will burn.  I’ll burn him and his whole bloody family.  He can join that fire God he loves so much._

"What is the matter, Your Grace," asked Ser Garth Hightower.   _The Tyrells...House Hightower serves the Tyrells.  That’s how the traitors mean to kill me.  By planting their agents within my own Kingsguard._

“You bloody Reachmen are what is the matter.  Lower your sword, Ser.  I am your King and I order you to lay it on the ground."   _The voices were right about you.  They were right all along.  They were right about everyone._  The traitor looked at Ser Vortimer Crane and Ser Ryon Allyrion before dropping his sword on the ground.   _The fool plainly thinks that he can win me over with false displays of loyalty._

The King quickly unsheathed Blackfyre and cut through Ser Hightower's armor like a knife through warm butter.  Blood spurted out of the traitor’s chest as he collapsed onto the ground.   _I’ll show you the wages that treason pays_ , Aegon thought to himself as he hacked away at the dying man's neck, head, and face.  Ser Vortimer Crane pulled him off of the traitor. _You cannot touch me.  I am a dragon!_  Aegon broke free of Ser Crane’s grip and turned to see Ser Allyrion kneeling next to Ser Hightower's body.  The fool was crying, shaking, and praying like a madman.  

"Ser Allyrion, what would your family think of a Dornishman crying for a Reachman?  Answer me you treasonous son of a whore,” Aegon snapped as he opened Ser Ryon’s throat.  He kicked the traitor’s lifeless body and sent it rolling down the hill.  The King turned to face the only remaining member of the Kingsguard in the camp.

"Are you going to betray me too?  Was this all your plan all along?  To trick me into killing the two loyal Kingsguard knights while you continued to hatch your treasons.  Is that the way of it, Ser," asked the King.  "Who else knew of this plan?  Varys?  Mopatis?  My father?  Get away from me!  You...you're House Tyrell’s creature.  You're here to kill me too, aren't you?  I won't let you do it!"  Aegon plunged Blackfyre into his own chest over and over again until he no longer had enough strength to stand.  Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of the His Name, fell to the ground dead in a pool of his own blood.  


	41. Myrcella

Myrcella’s head was still pounding as she made her way up the stairs.  The drums had given her a dreadful headache and she could still hear them echoing through the castle.  DOOM.  DOOM.  DOOM.  She heard the sound of leather scraping against stone and looked over her shoulder to see two shadows following her down the corridor.   _The Spider's little birds.  He's sent them after me._

Turning a corner, Myrcella picked up her pace.  She got to the final flight of stairs and saw that only one of the men was following her now.  She raced up the stairs and down the hall to her cell. _How will I get in without Ser Franklyn?  What if the door is locked?_  That proved to be the least of Myrcella's problems, as she saw that the second man had already cut her off from the other side.  Behind her the shorter, fatter one was jogging lightly to catch up.  

"My Lady," said the tall man, “I am Ser Lothor Brune.  You may remember me from your father and brother's court."  

"Yes!  You rode in Joffrey's name-day tourney, the first name-day after he was crowned," Myrcella replied.   _Finally someone I know!_

"Just so.  And the man behind you is Ser Shadrich, a hedge knight in service to your nuncle."  

"Which nuncle?  The true, or false?"  

"Err...the false, I suppose.  King Stannis.  Although Lord Tyrion was the one who paid us to save you.  My lady, do you know that your nuncle swore House Lannister to Stannis Baratheon?"  

“Why would – ”  

"Stannis Baratheon has already won this war.  Any fool with eyes can see that.  The false dragon lost it the day that the Vale declared for the one true King.  The Stormlands will be the final battlefield and you are a prisoner in the pretender’s capitol."  

"The feast," snapped Ser Shadrich.  The drums had stopped and screams began to echo through the halls.  "They must have found out what that crazed sparrow did to Ser Franklyn.  We have to go...NOW!"  

Myrcella still remembered the first time that she came to Storm's End.  Joffrey only cared about jousting and practicing with blunted swords in the yard, but the Princess had taken note of another guest the night they arrived: Ser Davos Seaworth.  The Onion Knight was known to be in her uncle Stannis' service, but he happened to be traveling from Dragonstone to his own lands in the Rainwood.  She had asked him to show her how he smuggled food into the castle when it was under siege and he had shown her a hidden entrance by the sea.  As Myrcella's rescuers led her into the chambers below the castle, she couldn't help thinking of that day.  

Suddenly Ser Lothor and Ser Shadrich stopped dead in their tracks.  There were three dark tunnels in front of them.  “Seven Hells.  The Imp told us how to get in, but he never told us anything about how to get out,” said Ser Shadrich.  

“It’s this way,” said Myrcella, pointing to the leftmost tunnel.   _Honestly, are all men useless?_ The knights did not question her knowledge and they made there way through the tunnel.  

"Sansa?  Lady Sansa?  Sansa,” a desperate voice shouted somewhere in the distance.  

Ser Lothor helped her into a rowboat while Ser Shadrich climbed in the front and untied the rope binding the boat to the harbor under the castle.  Ser Lothor used the oar to push them off and out they went into the mist.  They soon came upon and boarded a large ship.  Myrcella looked back at Storm’s End one last time. _I wish Sansa could have come with me...or even Prince Trystane._

"I fear I must tell you that you are no longer a highborn Lady,” said Ser Lothor.  “Your nuncle Tyrion signed the papers in exchange for a guarantee from the King that no harm would come to you or your brother Tommen.  You are now Myrcella Waters.  We shall have to bring you to Gulltown.  Unfortunately, there won’t be a safe route to the Westerlands until the war is over.”  


	42. Sansa

Lady Brienne had saved her from Storm’s End twelve days ago, but her rescuer had been struck by five arrows as they galloped away from the castle.  Worse yet, one of the wounds had begun to fester.  Podrick had tried to treat it, but he couldn't stop the rot.  By now, they were well into the Riverlands, but it was only a matter of time before the maid of Tarth died.   _She won’t even make it to Riverrun,_ Sansa thought to herself sadly.  

“Ser...err...my Lady,” said Podrick, “we should take to covered paths.  Anybody up on that hill can see us down here."  Brienne simply grunted and they continued along the same path.  Less than an hour later, they heard the rustling of leaves and a group of men surrounded them.  Lady Brienne drew her sword, but she was plainly in no condition to fight anyone, much ten opponents at once.  

"Who goes there," asked one of the men.  

"We mean no harm.  We are just passing," Sansa replied.  

"You hear that, Lem?  They mean us no harm," said another one of the men, looking at Podrick and Lady Brienne. "You don't mean any harm, my Lady, that much is true.  Can’t speak to the intentions of those two though."  

Lady Brienne charged forward, but the man was quick.  He slashed at her side and reopened a wound Podrick had sewn shut a week ago.  The maid of Tarth fell from her horse and collapsed, unconscious.  

“That’s enough,” said a third man.  “It is not for you to kill them.  Not until Cat...Lady Stoneheart has rendered her judgment.”  

The third man stepped forward and held out his hand to help Sansa dismount.  She nearly gasped when she saw his sigil.  

"Are you...the Blackfish?  My...I mean, my mother's uncle?"  

"I am.  You look so much like her, Sansa.  Come now, you don't really think I would recognize my own grandniece, do you?  If you wanted to travel unnoticed, you should have dyed your hair."  The other men tied Podrick and Lady Brienne to a horse and together, they all began the ascent to High Heart.  

“My Lady,” said the Blackfish, “I...I should warn you...what you will see at the top of the hill..."  

"What do you mean?"  

"I...well...Seven Hells, I don’t even know how to explain it.  I fear you may have to see it with your own eyes as I did.  Seven help me, I saw her."  

“Who?”  

 “Your mother.”  

“But she...my mother’s dead.  The Lannisters killed her at –”  

“Aye, they killed her.  Have you ever heard of the Brotherhood Without Banners?”  

"Yes," Sansa replied.  "Some people said that they were led by Beric Dondarrion.  I remember how fond Jeyne was of him when he rode in the tourney, but he’s dead now.”  

"Aye, but one of them, a man named Thoros, is a red priest.  When Lord Beric first died, Thoros brought him back to life using some sort of magic.  He brought Beric back many times.  Then one night, the brotherhood came upon a body lying on a riverbank.  At first, they were chased away by the largest wolf pack that the survivors had ever seen, but the second time...  Mind you, this was a week after the Red Wedding.  Lord Beric had always been brought back right away."   

“I...I don’t understand.  That’s not possible.”  

“That’s what I once thought too.  Don’t worry, sweetling, you’ll understand soon enough...”  

They were at the top of the hill now and Sansa saw a camp.  A hooded figure turned to look at them.  The Blackfish held out his hand to Sansa, helped her dismount again, and led her forward.  The figure pulled back its hood and Sansa gasped in disbelief.  

“Mother?  But it’s not...you...they...how...”  

This was not the woman she remembered, this was a corpse that had been brought back from the dead.  Hardened features, ghastly cuts, bits of bone sticking out from her wounds. _Is this better than death, mother?_

The thing that had once been her mother silently stared at her.  The faintest look of recognition appeared on the creature's face for a few seconds, before disappearing completely.  There was a loud thud and Lady Brienne fell to the ground, dead.  She dragged Podrick down with her when she fell from their horse.  

"Lady Brienne, she smuggled me out of the castle and Podrick, he...he helped,” said Sansa.  "Please don't let them hurt him, grandnuncle.”  

“I’m only a guest of theirs myself, sweetling.  Same as you,” her the Blackfish replied.  “It’s her that you need to convince.”  Before Sansa could say anything to her mother, the creature knelt over Brienne's body.  It pressed its lips against Lady Brienne's and then pulled back with a dazed look on its face.  Finally, it exhaled a puff of smoke and fell over dead.  

...

Sansa cried every morning until they reached the Red Fork.  Lady Brienne was alive again and the Blackfish had joined Sansa and her two rescuers on their journey to Riverrun.  The morning that Sansa awoke without crying, the maid of Tarth came to her and knelt, placing her sword at her feet.  Sansa accepted the lady's protection.  

The next few days lifted Sansa's spirits immensely.  She learned from her nuncle that Lord Tarly had restored her nuncle to his seat in Riverrun.  Once they arrived at Riverrun, she received even better news.  Not only had Jon had defeated the Boltons and been named Warden of the North, but Arya had somehow escaped from King’s Landing and made her way to Winterfell. _I am finally free!  Soon, I will be back in home in Winterfell.  I can finally see Jon and Arya again._


	43. Reek

Reek could not decide whether he was lucky or unlucky.  He had been spared by his master and yet he was surrounded by creatures that should have only existed in men’s nightmares.   _Those are disloyal thoughts!  I...I am lucky to be serving such a generous and merciful master.  The bad man can’t fool me!  Stop trying to trick me, Theon!_

The Army of Winter was 150,000 strong and had been marching south for weeks.   _At least master has not forgotten how to speak the common tongue.  A Reek that cannot understand its master is worthless.  Master never tells me anything because a Reek is not fit to know the secrets of the Others.  No, not the Others.  Master said that ‘Others’ is what their enemies call them.  They...they are the Sidhe.  If I call them the Others, it will mean that I’ve been a disloyal Reek.  Master will have to punish me and...and..._  It had to have been a lucky day because Reek’s master had chosen not to punish him for thinking such disloyal thoughts. _Master knows, he...he is just being merciful.  He knew about the Oth...the Sidhe.  Master knows everything._

The male and female Sidhe alike were fierce warriors and they rode flesh-eating spiders that were even bigger than direwolves.   _No!  I...I’ve never seen a direwolf before.  Those are the bad man’s memories.  Go away, Theon...before master sees you._

...  

“Reek, fetch me my sword,” said Lord Ram...Dulrihan.  

Today was the day of the duel.  From what Reek could understand, his master had been accepted by the Sidhe.  The creatures were led by a powerful warrior called the Night’s King.  Lord Ram...Dulrihan had once mentioned that the only way to become the Night’s King was to kill the current one in a duel.  To the shock of many of the Sidhe, he had challenged the Night’s King after learning everything he could from him.  It appeared likely that no Sidhe had successfully done so in quite some time, as they all kept their distance from Reek and his master.  

“Wish me luck, Reek,” said Dulrihan.  

Both Sidhe fought like demons and the rest of the warriors began chanting as the battle raged.  The Wights knelt and Reek decided to imitate them, lest he risk losing his head for making the wrong move.  Dulrihan and the Night’s King landed several hits on each other, yet neither of them could bring a quick end to the fight.   _Master will win.  No one can hurt him.  No one!  He has to win, he..._

“Thhh...Th...The...” whispered a voice from deep within the forest.  

For some reason, Reek felt compelled to follow the voice and he made his way deeper and deeper into the forest until he came upon a heart tree.  Memories of Winterfell...of Robb...of what the bad man had done...they all returned to him, and a voice seemed to come from the tree.  

“Theon,” the voice whispered.  

It had been ages since anyone had called him that name.  The memories that Theon had suppressed for so long came flooding back to him.  He nearly threw up as memory after memory returned to him.  Theon passed out and when he awoke, he remembered the duel.   _Mast – no, I am not Reek.  Not anymore.  Never again!  My name is Theon Greyjoy.  Dulrihan or whatever Ramsay is calling himself will be expecting me if he’s not dead already.  He must needs think that I am still Reek until I can find a way to warn the Night’s Watch that the Army of Winter is coming._

By the time he reached the spot, the Night’s King was lying on the ground dead with a sword sticking out of his chest as thousands and thousands of Sidhe knelt before Ram...Dulrihan.  

“Ah, there you are, Reek,” said Dulrihan.  “I was hoping you had run off.  You know how much I enjoy a good hunt.  You have a new King, Reek.  I am the Night’s King and soon I will be King of everything on Planetos.  Everyone shall kneel before me or lose every inch of their skin, one piece at a time.  That means that I’m your King too, Reek.  Go on, kneel before your master.”  

Theon knelt even as he knew that Ramsay Bolton or Dulrihan or whoever the creature speaking to him was had gone at least half mad since becoming an Other.   _I’ll never be able to warn the Night’s Watch in time, but mayhaps if Jon is Lord of Winterfell...could there still be time to evacuate the North?_

“Very good, Reek,” the Night’s King continued.  “And I will honor my father’s wishes.  He was very clear about what I must needs do in order to make him proud.  The Bastard of Winterfell may’ve murdered father, but I will avenge him and prove that I am his true son...his only true son.  The real bastard is the worthless piece of meat that I cut out of father’s fat whore.  Purple...peach...what are House Bolton’s colors, Reek?”  

“P-pink, master.”  

“Yes, Pink Walder, that’s it.  He was the real bastard and soon, I will prove it!”  

...  

The smoke rose higher and higher as the boats in the lake caught fire, killing the last survivors of the battle.  It had taken them weeks to hunt down the countless Wildlings that lived north of the Wall.  However, the Wildlings were plainly doomed once the Sidhe found Hardhome.   _They shouldn’t have settled in one area...why didn’t they keep marching south?  They could have warned the Night’s Watch.  The men of the Watch would have to be fools not to see that the Army of Winter is coming for everyone.  The Night’s King will not discriminate between Wildlings and men living south of the Wall.  Not this one, at least.  He’ll kill, flay, or transform everyone until I’m the only man left on Planetos._

To Theon’s surprise some of the Wildlings had built boats and tried to cross the lake to safety, but it was plainly a lost cause.   _The time to run was weeks ago._  The Sidhe didn’t even have to take part in the battle, the Wights alone were more than enough to massacre the Wildlings.  An entire people – hundreds and hundreds of clans – were wiped out in a single day.  The lucky ones had been permitted to stay dead...most had been turned into Wights, a fate far worse than death.  

For the rest of time, it would be as the Wildlings had never even existed.  Despite all of the stories he had heard about their savagery, Theon found that he could not help but pity the Wildlings.   _No man deserves to become a Wight.  Wights are just Reeks who are fortunate enough to have been robbed of the ability to think or feel.  I would have given anything for that when I was Reek_ , Theon thought to himself bitterly.  

The leader of the Wildlings, a large man named Tormund, had refused to become one of the Weights and set himself on fire when he saw that he was surrounded.   _Would that I had half of that man’s courage.  I’d set myself aflame and jump on Dulrihan.  Fire kills the Weights, so mayhaps it would kill the Night’s King too._

...  

“There it is, Reek,” said the Night’s King.  “That wall is the only thing standing between me and the north and I don’t imagine that it will remain standing much longer.  I told you we would be returning home, although I must needs make a few stops on the way there.”  

“Yes, master.  But how will you get past the Wall?”  

“Was that doubt, I heard in your voice?  Don’t worry, Reek, I forgive you.  But I will have no choice, but to punish you next time.  As it happens, the Sidhe found a rather...unique artifact three years ago.”  

It was a large horn, brighter and heavier than anything Theon had ever seen.  The Sidhe treated it as though it were something to be worshipped. _It’s just a horn.  The ice spiders cannot climb the Wall, the Night’s King said so himself.  The Wall will stop him!_

“M-master,” asked Theon, doing his best to sound like Reek.  

“Yes?”  

“What… what is that horn for?”  

“Oh, that?  It’s a very special horn.  In the common tongue it would be called the Horn of Joramun although the Sidhe call it the Horn of Winter.  And don’t worry, you’ll find out what it’s for soon enough.”  The Night’s King gave a command in the language of the Sidhe.  One of the warriors knelt and blew the horn.  

Aaaarrrroooooooooooo!  

Aaaarrrrrooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!  

Aaarrrrroooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!  

The earth shook, the wind howled, and trees fall to the ground.  Cracks began to appear in the Wall and bigger and bigger pieces of the structure fell to the ground.  Theon closed his eyes and tried to shut the noises out of his mind, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not escape from the laughter of the Night’s King.  


	44. Arya

_Winter is coming._

Arya Stark was a child of summer and she'd never imagined that this could be the winter of the north.  Snow had fallen day and night for two weeks.  It took two hours each day to re-shovel the courtyard and paths around the castle.  And she had never been this cold.  

Arya and Jon had picked up as though they’d only been apart for a few days.  And Lady Stark – _no, Val_ – she was a mix of Sansa's beauty and Arya's love of adventure.  They played in the Godswood until the snow became too deep, sword-fighting with tree branches.  She couldn't believe her luck when a letter came from Riverrun stating that Sansa was alive would be joining them in Winterfell soon...  

...that was before winter had come.  Jon had received the raven on a cold and grey day, just like any other.  Samwell Tarly, one of her brother’s friends from the Night’s Watch, had written that the Wall was under attack.  No one at Castle Black replied to any of the ravens her brother had sent offering assistance.  

...  

Arya stood on the castle walls with Val several days later, as Jon set out with a ranging party to go north.  He returned in less than a week and she ran down from her chambers to greet her brother.  Jon and his men had returned to Winterfell with several Night’s Watch deserters.   _Why did he bring them here?_  She approached the men as quietly as she could, hoping to hear what they were talking about before someone noticed her and made her leave the room.  

“We rode just in time, you ask me,” said one of the deserters.  “The world shook like it was splitting apart.  I never even looked back to be sure that the Wall had fallen.”  

“Aye, the Others had brought the Wall down,” said a second man.   _Others?  That’s stupid.  Everyone knows the Others aren’t real.  They’re just another of Old Nan’s stories._  Real or not, she had never seen grown men look so frightened or cry half so much as the deserters.  

“There was dead men too,” added a third deserter.  “Alliser Thorne nearly got himself killed saving Piggy from one of ‘em, he did.  Saw it with me own eyes.  Didn’t see either of ‘em after that though.  Dead, most like.”   _Why would someone risk their life trying to save a pig while the Wall was under attack?_

...  

During the next few days, fifty more men from the Night's Watch arrived at Winterfell along with King Stannis and his army.  Jon had made her promise to try to behave when the King was around and the witch Stannis brought with him always seemed to know what people were going to do before they did it, so Arya had settled for sheep shifting Axell Florent’s bed.   _The Others can have Lord Axell and the Red Woman.  I hate both of them.  Them and their stupid Lord of Light._  She didn’t know who the onion knight was, but Arya decided that she liked him the moment she saw the look on Lord Axell’s face when he learned the man would be replacing him as Hand of the King.   _Anyone who makes Lord Axell and his stupid ears that angry can’t be all bad._

The Red Woman tried to have all of the men who fled to Winterfell when the Wall came down burned alive, but Jon forbid it.  In the end, Stannis had sided with Jon, much to Arya’s relief.   _Stannis wouldn’t make do something he didn’t want to just because the Red Woman likes to burn things.  The King likes my brother better than that stupid, old witch._   _He’s not so bad_ , she decided, _even if he’s always grumpy and grinds his stupid teeth whenever I try to talk to him.  I don’t know why he got so mad at me.  I didn’t forget to call him ‘Your Grace’ on purpose...not the first time, anyway._

The deserters brought all sorts of stories with them: Lord Commander Mallister dead, an undead army larger than any in Westrosi history, and ice spiders the size of direwolves that ate men alive.  When Jon announced that he would lead another ranging party north, Arya begged him to stay at Winterfell.  

“No, don’t go!  I won’t let you leave, I...  Please, I can't lose you again.”  This time, she refused to watch her brother ride north.  The snow storms got worse that night and in the morning, there was no sun.  

...  

The next day, Arya put herself into helping shovel the paths around the yard and worked so hard that she was sweating, even in the cold.  By mid-day, she’d forgotten how angry she was at Val for letting Jon leave and even accepted her invitation to lunch.  

“I'm sure he'll be back soon,” Val said as soothingly as she could.   _She may have Sansa's beauty, but she's a terrible liar.  Sansa was always good at lying, especially if the lie got me in trouble._

“He's going to die out there,” Arya replied in a flat voice.  The wind began to howl as if in agreement. _He’s probably dead already_ , she thought to herself sadly.   _I will not cry.  I am a direwolf and direwolves don’t cry!_   They both realized at the same time that it was not the wind, but the sound of voices shouting from down in the courtyard.  Val walked over to the window and gasped.  

“He’s back,” Val exclaimed, as she grabbed Arya by the wrist and led her downstairs.  Of the forty men that had left with Jon, only six remained.  Arya hugged her brother fiercely and strained to understand his words.  

“Must go...winter has...” Jon gasped before collapsing on the ground.  

...  

It had been seven hours since her brother’s return and the Lord of Winterfell was still lying unconscious, although some of the men had carried him to his chambers. _Jon won’t die from his wounds, the new Maester promised.  He...he’s just hurt a little is all._  Val was plainly afraid, but she wouldn’t say who had attacked Jon, so Arya waited until her good-sister finally left the great hall and approached her brother’s men.  

 “Who attacked you, Duncan?  What...what happened to Jon,” she asked one of the survivors.  

“The Weights, they...they fell upon us,” Duncan replied.  “And Lord Stark, he had us all with torches so we was able to make a retreat quick enough, but then the spiders came and...  It isn’t for me to be telling ya such things, m’lady.  M’lord Stark...he wouldn’t like it.”  

“I’m not a Lady.  And Jon won’t mind...not really.  Please, I promise not to tell anyone that you told me.”  

“I suppose it don’t really matter no more.  You’ll find out sooner or later, most like.  Might as well hear it now.  The spiders attacked the horses.  Ate ‘em raw and alive, they did.  Some of the men riding them too.  Lord Stark even battled an Other.  That Valeryian sword of his rang out most queerly when it hit the beast’s spear.  I never seen or heard anything like it in me life.  Some of the men even stopped to watch and got stabbed in the back.  

The creature eventually made a mistake and your brother’s sword made the monster shatter like an icicle.  The air seemed to get a touch warmer after that, but it could've been the blood running down me face.  Either way, M'lord and the rest of us came back as quick as possible.  There was fifteen left when we fled, but not all of ‘em made it back.”  

“But the Others aren’t real,” Arya blurted.  The man opened his mouth to reply, but a hard voice cut him off.  

“Enough,” said Jon, entering the room with Val by his side.  “You are not to speak another word to my sister about what we saw.  It wasn’t for you to tell her.  She must needs hear it from me.”  

“Forgive me, m’lord.  Your sister asked me to tell her, she did.”  

“That I believe. Leave us; I would speak to my family in private.”  Duncan gave him a weary look and did as he was told.  Once everyone else had left the great hall, the Lord of Winterfell took a seat between Val and his youngest sister.  

“Neither of you are safe here, not anymore,” Jon began.  “You are two of the only three members of my family left and I won't let either you die here.  I've prepared a party of forty men to take you to join Sansa in Riverrun.  Now that the Wall has fallen, you’ll be far safer with the Tullys than with me.”   _No!  I won’t leave Winterfell.  Not again!_

“But I –”  

“I know you can fight, little sister.  I know that you are very brave and a Stark of Winterfell besides.  Many would say that this is your home even more than it is mine.  But sometimes it takes more courage to leave than it does to stay and fight.  If anything should happen to me, you’ll be the only family your sister has left.  You’ll have to be strong for her.  Do you understand?”  Arya nodded.  

“I'm not sure that I could have found the courage to restore this castle and make a home here without you,” Jon continued, turning his attention to Val.  “But you must needs go south with Arya.  You will both be safer together than apart and neither of you are safe here.  Winter is coming.  You know what that means better than most.  Watch over Arya for me.”  

...  

A few hours later, with only two small bags, Arya made her way down to the courtyard.  Before she could say goodbye to her brother one last time, an earsplitting horn blew from the North Tower.  

Arooooooooooooo!  

Arooooooooooooooooo!  

Aroooooooooooooooooooooo!  

_Three blasts?  What does three mean?  One blast means friends, two means wildlings, but three..._  The world around her quickly answered that question.  What little sunlight remained quickly disappeared behind dark, heavy clouds.  The wind howled as more and more snow fell from the sky.  

“The south gate,” Jon shouted, “to the south gate!”  They ran as fast as they could, but the thick wooden gate was closed.  

“It's no use, m’lord.  They're out there too.  We're surrounded,” shouted the watchman.  

“Val, Arya, the two of you must needs go inside,” he shouted at them.  “The Others are here!  You have to go...NOW!”   _Fear cuts deeper than swords.  Fear cuts deeper than swords.  Fear cuts deeper than swords._

She raced into the castle with Val and they hid in a room not far from the great hall.  They heard men shouting and the sound of hammers for over an hour.  Curiosity finally got the better of her and Arya snuck away, leaving Val none the wiser.   _Quiet as a shadow._

Arya climbed staircase after staircase until she finally reached the rookery.  The ravens were kept there, so it had one of the highest windows in Winterfell.  One of the ravens squawked as she made her way to the window. _I better not get caught because you decided to start making noise.  Stupid bird._  

She could hear her heart pounding like a drum as she looked out over the battlements.  There were dead men outside of Winterfell’s walls for as far as her eyes could see.   _Winter has come...and we're surrounded._  

...  

Arya tried to leave the room several times, but her legs wouldn’t move and she couldn’t look away besides.  It was as though she had been frozen in place ever since the first of the spiders scaled Winterfell’s walls.  At least thirty of the spiders had already made it into the courtyard although many of them had been killed.  Most of the monsters riding on the spider’s backs were still alive though.   _They must be the Others_ , she thought to herself with a shudder. _Fear cuts deeper than swords._

_Jon...he...he won’t let them win!  He’ll beat them just like the stupid Boltons.  Jon said that Stannis knew how to kill the Others._

The Others cut through most of the Northmen like a knife through warm butter, but Stannis’ men had managed to kill a few of the monsters with their dragonglass weapons.  The dragonglass didn’t seem to work against the dead men though.   _Where is Jon,_ Arya wondered, biting her lip.  She saw one of the Others lead a group of dead men into the castle.   _I can’t go back now, they might see me._

Suddenly, a blue-eyed raven that had plainly died many years ago flew into the rookery.  For a few seconds, it simply stared at Arya then it began squawking loudly over and over again.   _No!  Go away!  Be quiet!  Please!_  

By the time she managed to chase the creature back out the window, the bird – or whatever it was – had made so much noise that Arya was certain that someone or something must have heard it.  Even so, she couldn’t help looking out the window one last time and when she did, she saw that at least five of the Others in the courtyard were looking directly at the window.  The moment that she stuck her head out the window, all five of the creatures – each surrounded by a group of dead men – began cutting their way to the castle entrance closest to the rookery.   _They saw me.  They’re coming for...  Not today!  Not today!  Not today!  Not today!_

She raced to the other end of the rookery and was about to leave the room when the door swung open.  Arya screamed and somehow the air in the rookery grew even colder.  Something grabbed her left arm and lifted her off the ground as though she were as light as a feather.   _I...I won’t cry.  Direwolves don’t cry!_

The last thing that she saw before losing consciousness was the creature preparing to hit her on the head with the flat side of a blood-stained axe. _Not today!  Not today!  Not to –_  

*THUD*  


	45. Jon

The snow fell harder and harder as the Lord of Winterfell watched his wife and youngest sister race into the castle.   _I will not let them die...not like this.  Even if the Army of Winter proves too powerful, the castle’s defenses must needs hold until I can figure out a way to get Arya and Val out of Winterfell.   Anything would be better than seeing them become Wights._

_Stannis armed his men with dragonglass weapons.  Even if most of the Northmen refused to use them, mayhaps Stannis’ army will be able to drive the Others away...or at least buy us enough time to send Arya and Val to Riverrun...somehow._

...  

At first, the battle had gone far better than Jon would’ve thought possible.  The spiders were fierce enough, but they could be killed with steel.  Even so, they killed more men than they should have, as many soldiers were too frightened to defend themselves when the beasts charged at them.  There had been enough time to reinforce the gates and they kept the Wights out of Winterfell.   

Ultimately, the spiders were not half so dangerous as the Others that they brought with them on their backs when they scaled the walls.  The Others could shatter steel with their weapons, were strong enough to crush a man’s skull with their bare hands, and could turn those they killed into Wights.  And yet not even they were able make it past the courtyard and into the castle itself.  Jon cut down three with Longclaw and the dragonglass swords that the King’s men fought with claimed many more.  However, with each new wave of Others that rode over Winterfell’s walls and into the courtyard, the number of men defending the fortress grew a bit smaller.   _If there weren’t so many Others or if we could kill all of those spiders to keep any more from coming over the walls then there might still be hope, but there are too many of them,_ Jon realized.   _For every one of them we kill, they add twenty of us to their army.  The Others know what they must needs do to take Winterfell; they just have to keep riding over the walls while our ranks grow smaller and smaller._

...  

Jon could not remember how long they had been fighting, but he knew that he would not last much longer and could feel his strength leaving him.  As the battle continued to rage in the parts of the courtyard near the walls, the Lord of Winterfell entered the castle, made his way to the great hall, and collapsed into an empty chair.  Stannis and some of his knights were already in the hall when he arrived.  

“Your Grace, we can’t keep going like this,” said Lord Axell. “Winterfell won’t last much longer.”  

“And what would you have us do, my Lord,” asked Ser Richard Horpe. “Surrender? Mayhaps you’d also have us open the gates and send an envoy to negotiate favorable terms with the Others and their bloody dead men.”  

“Ride!  I would have us leave Winterfell and ride to safety.  And you would do well to remember your place, Ser.  I am still a Lord.” _How could such a man have ever been the Hand of the King?_  

“The Army of Winter has us surrounded,” Ser Horpe replied.  “The Others aren’t going to just lay down their weapons and let us leave.  You’d think even a bloody Florent would have figured that out by now...my Lord.”  

The two men came to blows after that remark and it was had only the King’s threat to behead both men that brought an uneasy truce. _I did not drive the Boltons from the North just to watch...watch two Southrons...fight while...while..._

...  

“Lord Stark, the Others...there was more of ‘em this time.  They pushed us half way across the courtyard, they did,” a voice shouted.  

Jon woke up and realized that he had passed out in the now empty great hall.  A soldier had come to tell him that another wave of spiders had scaled the walls, each with an Other on its back.  The Lord of Winterfell forced himself to rise.  He left the castle and made his way over to the King as several nearby men prepared the defenses and waited for the enemy to strike.  There was a loud creaking sound and suddenly more and more dead men began racing towards the castle.  

“Your Grace, m’lord, those things...the Others, I mean.  One of ‘em just opened the s-south gate,” shouted a soldier, as he ran over to them.  

“So be it,” replied Stannis, grinding his teeth. “And you will address Lord Stark as ‘my Lord’ not ‘m’lord.’”   

“Your Grace, the Lady Melisandre says that she must needs speak with you.  She said the Lord of Light has given her another vision and such.  Told me to tell you that we’ll win the battle if you bring your best men to the crypt,” said another soldier.  

  “Very well,” replied the King, grinding his teeth one more time before making his way over to one of the largest remaining Southron garrisons.  

...

  The Northmen and Southrons alike fought fiercely, even as their numbers continued to dwindle.  The King’s men had fared somewhat better, largely due to their dragonglass blades.  

“They broke through, m’Lord,” a wounded soldier shouted.  “I saw an Other and some dead men enter the castle.  I looked again before I got here and some of ‘em seemed to be staring at the top of one of the towers, but I can’t say for sure."   _Arya and Val…_  

Jon raced back into the castle as fast as his legs would carry him along with Ghost and a small group of men.  He killed two Others near the entrance and a third as they began breaking down doors throughout the castle.  A fourth Other tried to ambush them, but the Lord of Winterfell shattered it with Longclaw just like the rest.  More and more men fell as they cut their way closer and closer to the great hall.  Jon killed another Other in the hall and one of his men slew several dead men by using a torch to set the wooden table the Wights were standing on aflame.  

Once they had searched every room on the ground floor of the castle, Jon, Ghost, and his few remaining men climbed another staircase and continued to search room after room.  Suddenly, he heard Arya scream.   _The scream was too far away!  She’s above us somewhere._   Jon raced up another staircase as his men struggled to keep up with him.  

_Arya’s been here_ , Jon realized as soon as he saw the small, steel arrowhead lying on the ground directly in front of one of the rooms. _It fell out of her pocket, most like._   Of late, Arya had been collecting the bloody things, oft trying to grab them when the archers or armorers weren’t looking.  However, his relief quickly turned to panic when he took a closer look at the room.   _Why is the door open?  No!  No!  No!_

Jon charged through the open doorway with Ghost and his remaining men following behind him, but there was no sign of that his sister had ever been in the room...nothing except the scream he’d heard only minutes earlier.  If Arya had ever been in the room, she was gone...even Needle was missing.  

However, the room was far from empty.  A group of Wights were stabbing Val over and over again.  Her body fell to the ground as the dead men turned to face the Lord of Winterfell.  Jon charged at them as his men struggled, but before he could cut his way to his wife’s body, he saw someone he never expected to see again.  It took Jon a moment to recognize the Wight, but it was plainly Maester Aemon.  

“You…”  

The thing that had once been Aemon Targaryen charged at him.  One of the Wights grabbed a bronze candlestick holder and hit Ghost over the head with it, knocking the direwolf unconscious and the rest of Jon’s men were dead.  The Lord of Winterfell grabbed a torch from the wall and rammed it into Maester Aemon’s undead corpse.  The creature howled in pain before falling to the ground dead.  

Suddenly, one of Jon’s men came back to life and stabbed him in the back, forcing him to his knees.  Another of them rose as a Wight and then a third, both stabbing him in his back just as the first one had.  

Jon forced himself to crawl across the floor as blood flowed out of his wounds.  By the time that he reached Val’s body, he knew that she was gone forever.  As the creature’s eyes turned blue, the thing that had once been Val stood up and left the room with the rest of the Wights, he used the last of his strength to curse himself for having let this happen.   _Val is dead.  No, death would have been a mercy compared to this...  Arya is gone too, most like.  I couldn’t save either of you.  Forgive me, I..._

Jon Stark died thinking of the two people he had loved most...the ones who had trusted him to keep them safe...the ones whom he had failed to protect during their hour of need.  


	46. Theon

Theon shivered as the air around him somehow grew even colder.  The men at Winterfell had managed to withstand wave after wave of Sidhe, but it did not matter.   _Dulrihan...Ramsay...the Night’s King...whoever or whatever he is now, he’s just playing with them.  As soon as he gives the order, the Sidhe will start trying to open the gates from within.  And then..._

...  

After two hours of fighting, the Night’s King finally ordered a large group of Sidhe to open the gates before sending them off to attack the fortress.  The southern gate opened not long afterward, just as Theon feared it would.  Hundreds of Wights flooded through the gate.   _Soon every man in Winterfell will be dead...or worse.  The lucky ones will stay dead._

“Reek, what did I tell you about standing up straight,” asked the Night’s King.  Dulrihan had never actually participated this or any other battle, preferring to issue commands to other Sidhe from the rear and avoid placing himself in any true danger.  

“For-forgive me, master,” stammered Theon, hunching over.  

“Very well, I will forgive you...this time.  You caught me in a rather pleasant mood.  But next time, I will –”  

Aaarrrroooooo!  

Aarrrrooooooooo!  

Aaarrrooooooooooo!  

“Those can’t be war horns, they...they were surrounded.  How could anyone have gotten out,” Dulrihan asked, speaking more to himself than he was to anyone else.  Theon turned around and saw that the remnants of Stannis Baratheon’s army had somehow escaped undetected.  They had circled around the entire Army of Winter and were attacking from behind.   _Ram...Dulrihan only has a few hundred Sidhe guarding him.  Could Stannis...could he actually kill him?_  Stannis Baratheon himself was leading the charge with a flaming sword in his hand.  

It took every ounce of self-control Theon had left not to smirk when he saw the look on the Night King’s face as Stannis’ men cut their way closer and closer to him.   _He is afraid!  Stannis is coming and the bastard is afraid of him!_   _Mayhaps they’ll even kill me too!_   

The Night's King mounted his undead horse and raced towards Stannis, plainly intending to face the man in single combat. _One way or another, this will be the end.  The King's men are dropping like flies; the only hope is for Stannis to kill the Night’s King before the rest of his men were turned into Wights._

Both Kings were eventually thrown off their horses and traded blow after blow.  Stannis quickly took the upper hand, forcing the King to step back as the rest of the Sidhe fought a ferocious battle with the Southrons.  Theon remembered Stannis Baratheon from the day when the Stag had stood amidst the ruins of Pyke during the rebellion, and he'd hated the man ever since.  Yet as he watched the man battle the Night's King, he wanted nothing so much as to see Stannis prevail.  Each new blow forced Dulrihan to take another step back.  

The Night’s King finally made the mistake of putting his arm too low and Stannis made a clean cut with Lightbringer, taking off most of Dulrihan’s right arm. The Night’s King fell to the ground, screaming in pain.  

“You should have shattered you like an icicle,” said Stannis, grinding his teeth.  “Lightbringer may not be what the Lady Melisandre said it was, but whatever spell she cast on it should be enough to end you, monster.”  

“NO!  WAIT,” shouted the Night’s King.  Stannis raised his sword and prepared to plunge it into the monster’s chest.  

“PLEASE, I –”  

Suddenly, Lightbringer fell to the ground.  The snow turned red and blood splattered all over Dulrihan's face as a Wight pulled its sword out of Stannis Baratheon’s back.   _NO!_  The creature stabbed him a second time and then the Night’s King stood up, unsheathed a knife and opened the dying man’s throat.  Theon looked around and saw that all of the Baratheon troops were either dead or had been turned into wights.  

...  

Other Sidhe had been sent to attack Last Hearth and Karhold, but Winterfell was always the one that mattered most.  The Sidhe had suffered far more casualties than expected due to the Southron’s strange, black weapons.  Eventually, the Night’s King – crippled as he was – made his way into Winterfell.  He left Theon in the courtyard and entered the castle.  Not five minutes later, Dulrihan stormed out of the castle, his face twitching in anger.  

“He’s not here.  How do those cunts keep getting out?  First Stannis and now him,” snarled the Night’s King.  

“M-master?”  

“Jon Snow...the Bastard of Winterfell.  I saw the Wights stab him to death.  It doesn't matter if they are birds, horses, or men, whenever I look through a Wight' eyes, I see what it sees.  I could see through the eyes of the raven Wights when they flew over the Wall and I could see through the eyes of the one that knocked out Lord Snow's bloody direwolf.  His Wildling whore is a Wight, but the Stark bastard and his wolf are both gone.  That son of a whore killed my father and since Winterfell will be my new home, I want to hang his skin on one of the walls.  How could anyone have gotten his body out?  Surely that wolf of his would've made noise if it woke up.”  

Theon thought the Battle of Winterfell was a bittersweet victory for the Night’s King as he watched the one-armed monster ramble about Jon Stark's missing body...until a Sidhe warrior carrying unconscious prisoner approached them and a bone-chilling smile appeared on Dulrihan’s face.  Theon’s uneasiness turned into sheer panic once he realized who the creature was holding in its arms.   _Arya…_

The King motioned for the Sidhe to bring the girl closer to him and Theon started to tremble.  He had never cared much for Lord Stark’s horse-faced daughter and was surprised to see how much she had grown.  She still had the Stark look, but was not half so ugly as he had remembered.   _How did she get back to Winterfell?  Was she there when I...when...  Did I let a third Stark child slip through my fingers?_  However, nothing surprised him half so much as the fact that Arya had survived the battle.   _She escaped from King's Landing, made her way to Winterfell, and may've even managed to stay hidden when the Boltons controlled the castle.  But Sidhe took the time to capture her and I'm the only prisoner Ramsay has ever taken.  They delivered her to him alive and unharmed, save for the bruise on her forehead.  Why was she spared?_  Theon glanced at the Night's King and shuddered when he saw that the creature's smile had grown even wider.  

It dawned upon him that he was seeing yet another step in the complete destruction of House Stark.  The realization revived the conflict between the boy he had been, the man that wanted to be…and the creature he had become.   _Everything that has happened, all of it...this is all my fault.  If I hadn’t betrayed Robb, the Starks would have won and none of this would have happened.  Ramsay would have stayed at the Dreadfort with his father.  I deserve to be Reek.  I will be Reek always...always and forever._

The Night’s King touched Arya on her left cheek with his index finger and motioned for the creature to put her down.  Her skin turned as white as the moon and she fell to the ground.  Dulrihan walked right next to her and his smile grew even wider as Arya – or whatever she was now – slowly began to move.  

All of the other Sidhe knelt as the Night’s King gently forced her to stand.  The thing that had once been Arya Stark finally opened its eyes.  The sight of the creature’s cold, blue eyes was enough to force Reek to his knees as well.   _She is not a Wight.  He...He made her one of them..._

The Battle of Winterfell was over.  


	47. The Night's Queen

“NO!  I won’t!  You can’t make me,” Arya shouted.  

“I have no intention of forcing you to marry me,” the Night’s King replied.  “I could, but I won’t.  I can make you do whatever I want.  I could even take you right here if I wanted, but that’d be awfully boring, don’t you think?  Luckily for us, I won’t have to because you are going to say your vows like a good little wolf bitch.  And you are going to do it willingly.”  

“Are you insane?” _He will not see me afraid.  Fear cuts deeper than swords.  Fear cuts deeper than swords.  Fear cuts deeper than swords._

“You know, it’s getting harder and harder to remember the past, but I seem to recall father making it quite clear how important it was to him that I take you for a wife.  He said that he’d name me as his heir I found a way to do it and I intend to honor his wishes.  I think father would have been very proud of me if he were still with us.  And Arya Bolton has a nice ring to –”  

“Don’t ever call me that again!”  

“You really shouldn’t interrupt me.  I hate when people interrupt me.  It has a way of making conversations awfully boring.  You don’t want to bore me, do you, Arya?”  

“Good!  I hope you’re bored for the rest of your stupid life.  I hate you!  And my name’s not Arya, it’s...”  She couldn’t finish the sentence.   _I...I am not Arya...not really.  That’s not me.  Maybe if I found her pack, I could re-learn how to be Arya...maybe...  No, that’s stupid!  Arya of House Stark is dead and her pack wouldn’t want me besides.  Arya is...it is a special name...a wolf name, but it is not my name.  But then...who am I_ , she wondered, biting her lip.  

“Very well, Not Arya.  What is your name,” asked the Night’s King.  

“I...my name...” _I have to have a name...not Arya of House Stark though.  Arya...she was a child of summer who died when winter came. I am not of the summer.  I am the winter.  I am..._  Suddenly, it came to her.  She did not know how she knew the name or where it came from...only that it was hers.  

“If your name isn’t Arya, then what is it?  I could just pick one for you, if you’d like.”  

“My name is Beltaine and someday I am going to kill you,” she replied in a flat voice.

“Of course you are, but until then, that’s a boring name.  Pick a different –”  

“Shut up!”  

“Did you speak to your mother that way?  Before the dumb bitch got her throat cut, I mean.  Then again, if Lord Snow was a bastard, mayhaps all of your father’s other children came from tavern sluts too.  You might even be a bastard yourself.  I suppose it all depends on how many whores your father fucked after he got tired of your – ”  

“My mother and father loved each other and if you say even one more word about either of them, I’ll – ”  

“I imagine you’ll remember less and less about them everyday.  Who knows?  Another week and mayhaps you won’t even know I’m lying when I tell you that your mother was a whore who flashed her cunt at every man she –”  

“BURN IN HELL,” Beltaine screamed, charging at Dulrihan like a rabid wolf.  The Night’s King sent her crashing to the ground by a single blow.   _Ramsay Bolton.  Dulrihan.  The Night’s King.  He...he will die._

“Now that’s no way to behave,” said Dulrihan with a chuckle.  "Would you like me to show you what happens to people who displease me?”   _I will kill him...someday.  But not today.  Today, I will be quiet as a mouse_ , Beltaine decided, shaking her head.  

“Oh...you wouldn’t?  Well I suppose I could just have one of the other Sidhe hit you on the head with an axe again – harder this time – and drag you there.”  

“No...I...I’ll go. Where are we going?”  

“We’re going to visit your father, of course.”  

...  

As soon as the Night’s King opened the door to Winterfell’s crypt, Beltaine heard the sound men’s screams echoing through the darkness.  At first, she couldn’t see anything, but once her blue eyes adjusted to the darkness, she finally saw them...  

The crypt was filled with men lying on the floor in chains as two Wights feasted upon their flesh.  Some men wept, others begged for mercy.  If the Wights understood what any of the men were saying, they did not show it.  They didn’t do anything except reduce the closest prisoner to little more than a pile of bones before moving on to the next man.  Beltaine opened her mouth to say...something, but no sound came out.  All she could do was watch in mute horror until the Night’s King finally spoke.  

“You mustn’t judge them too harshly.  They only do as I command; the Wights have no will of their own.”  

“Make them –”   _That’s stupid!  He’s not going make them stop and those were Arya’s words besides.  Arya of House Stark is dead.  I am Beltaine of Winterfell and these men are not of the North.  They are not of winter.  They are not wolves.  They are nothing._

“Don’t you want to know who they are?  That one over there used to be your bastard brother’s Wildling whore.  Don’t know the bitch’s name though.  And that one used to be Stannis Baratheon.”  

“Jon...what happened to him?”   _Not even Jon would want me back now...  He’d hate me, but he is still part of my pack_ , Beltaine decided as she bit her lip to keep from crying. _I will not cry.  I am a wolf and wolves don't cry._  

“Funny you should ask because I don’t know,” replied the Night’s King.  “He was badly wounded by the Wights, but mayhaps he’s still alive.  I have him locked up somewhere around here.  Of course, how long he stays alive is entirely up to you.  As I said, I have no intention of forcing you to marry me so that I can honor my father’s wishes.  Just know that if you refuse to do so, I’ll feed the Bastard of Winterfell to the Wights.  Now then, are you going to behave and say your vows or will I have to punish you?”  

For a moment, she simply stared at the monster.   _He only has one arm.  I could kill him with Needle and...no, it would shatter.  I can’t run.  Even if I got away, he’d kill Jon and Winterfell is my home besides.  I won’t leave.  Not again!_   Beltaine nodded her head sadly.  

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.  Promise me that you’ll behave; I want to hear you say it.”  

“Why?”  

“Because it will amuse me.  Because I told you to say it. Because if you don’t –”  

“I...I promise to behave,” Beltaine mumbled.   _Someday, I will find out his real name and when I do, a wolf will hunt him down during the darkest hour of the Long Night._

“That’s a good wolf.  Mayhaps if you behave yourself for the rest of the day, I will even give you a treat.”  

“I’m not your stupid pet!”  

“That is exactly what you are and you’d best mind your tongue before you leave me with no choice but to punish you.  True, I still need your cunt until such time as you’ve given me a son, but you don’t really need ten fingers for that, do you.  Don’t worry though, I promise not to cut up that pretty little face of yours.  I like it just the way it is,” said the Night’s King, pinching her left cheek before shoving her to the ground.  The look on his face frightened Beltaine more than anything that Arya had seen since the Red Wedding. _Raff the Sweetling used to stare at little girls that way..._

“It’s okay,” the Night’s King continued, holding out his hand as if to help her up.  “I forgive you for talking back to me.  Remember, I’ll never hurt you unless you give me cause.  So long as you do as I say, you’ll find me to be a fair and generous master.  Just ask Reek.”  

“What’s a Reek?”  

“You’ll meet him soon enough.  After what Reek did at Winterfell, you could almost call him a wedding gift.  Go on, take my hand.  I’m not a raper, if that’s what you’re thinking.”   _How did he...he saw fear on my face.  He will not see me like that again.  Hard as stone.  Fear cuts deeper than swords._

“Well...mayhaps I am a raper,” he continued, “but I’m not going to rape you.  Why should I?  Once we’ve been wed, I can simply claim my rights as a husband and bed you whenever I please.  Now then, are you going to take my hand or have you decided to misbehave after all?  And here I thought we were getting along so well.  I suppose I could turn Jon into a Wight and make him eat himself.  I’ve never made any of them do that before.  Would you like that?”   _Not today!  Not today!  Not today!_

Beltaine forced herself to swallow her hatred and took his hand.  The Night’s King helped her to her feet.  Just touching him made Beltaine’s skin crawl and she thought she was going to throw up when he kissed her hand. _He is just trying to scare me is all.  Calm as still water._

“Well, I’d say we’ve waited long enough,” he continued.  “I am glad we had this little talk.  When the time comes, all you’ll have to do is say a few words.  I imagine they’ll come to you, just as your name did.  I suppose we’d best get going.  Wouldn’t want to be late for your own wedding, would you?”  

...  

When they arrived at the great hall, Beltaine saw that the room was filled with Sidhe and she followed the Night’s King to the center of the room.  Suddenly, the other Sidhe all began chanting in unison.  She couldn’t understand more than a few of the words, but it seemed like some sort of prayer.  

As Beltaine studied the Sidhe surrounding her, she felt Arya’s memories melting away like ice in the summer.  _There’s nothing to be afraid of...not really.  Those are just Arya’s memories and the Sidhe didn’t take them all away besides. They’re just...helping me forget some of them is all.  Who cares what happened at some boring, old house in Braavos anyway?  Stupid house._

_This is where I belong...with my little cousins.  This is our home.  Winter has come and in the darkest hour of the Long Night, a wolf will hunt down the men who stole it from us._

_The Sidhe saved me.  They...they chose me.  They wanted me to join their pack.  No one should want me after the things Arya Stark did...after what the Night’s King turned her into, but the Sidhe didn’t care.  They made me part of their pack even though they can’t be part of mine._

_They aren’t monsters...not really.  All they – no – all we ever wanted was to have our home back.  Everything will be better once the men who stole it from us are dead. Soon the Long Night will come and there won’t be any more stupid summers in Westeros._

_Maybe they’ll even let the rest of Arya’s pack join us.  Jon and Sansa might be afraid at first, but they’ll see.  It’s not so bad.  Soon the lone wolf will find her pack and...  No, they wouldn’t understand.  Even if I told them that it was for the best, they’d never believe me.  Jon and Sansa would be scared and they’d have to die first...just like Arya of House Stark.  I...I can’t do that to them, I wouldn’t...not really.  I just miss them is all.  I won’t let my little cousins do anything to Arya’s pack!  I’ll protect them...somehow_ , Beltaine decided.  

_The other Sidhe could be my pack now...maybe...  No!  My little cousins cannot be my pack.  They will never be wolves.  The Sidhe can be my family though, all of them except the Night’s King.  They won’t care if my stitches are crooked or even if my stupid hair is all tangled in knots.  I still have a family_ , Beltaine thought to herself with a smile.  

She turned and saw Dulrihan staring at her.  His wormy lips curled into a smile and she could feel his blue eyes crawling underneath her leathers.  Beltaine shuddered.   _I hate him!  I hate his knives.  I hate his stupid face.  I hate everything about him!  He will not steal Arya from me.  I won’t let him!  Everything that has happened is his fault, the other Sidhe didn’t do anything._

Suddenly, Beltaine realized that she could understand what the Sidhe had been chanting.  She had never heard the language before, and yet it felt as though she had never known any other.  Beltaine bit her lip once she realized that she also knew the words she would have to say now that the chant had ended.  

“May the Great Other bind our two souls together as one,” said the Night’s King.  

“On this Long Night, in the darkness that never ends,” Beltaine muttered.  

“I am hers.”  

For a moment, she couldn’t make herself say the words.  Dulrihan’s face darkened with rage as she stared at him, her blue eyes burning with hatred.  Finally, she whispered the last four words.  “And I am his.”  

“Very good!  That wasn’t so hard, was it?  Now then, I suppose there is something I ought to tell you, sweet wife.  Lying is a terrible way to start a marriage, wouldn’t you agree?  In that spirit, I wanted to tell you about I game I used to play with Reek.  I don’t remember where I learned it, but it’s called Lord of the Crossing and...well...I did say mayhaps.  I suppose what I’m really saying is that your bastard brother was already dead.  But look on the bright side, you’ll be a Queen instead of your sister.  Must be a dream come true for you.”  

“YOU BAST –” before she could finish the word, the Night’s King forced her to turn around.  He grabbed her left arm and began to twist it behind her back as hard as he could.  

  “You will not call me that word, you little cunt. NEVER! If you ever say it again, I’ll kill you where you stand. I AM NOT A BASTARD,” the Night’s King roared.  Just when it felt like he was about to pull her arm off, Dulrihan began howling in pain and let go.  

The pain in her shoulder was nearly unbearable, but Beltaine couldn’t help snickering as Dulrihan whined about his own shoulder.   _No one even touched his stupid arm and he’s screaming like a scared little girl.  He’s even crying a little.  I will not cry_ , she decided, glancing at her left shoulder. _I am a wolf and wolves don’t cry._  By the time Dulrihan had recovered, Beltaine’s shoulder had stopped hurting.  

One of the Sidhe began to speak and Dulrihan’s face began to twitch in anger as he replied in the same language, making his way toward the warrior.   _I can understand what they’re saying, I...I won’t speak the stupid common tongue anymore_ , she decided. _It is not of winter.  The men who tried to steal our home may speak it, but they are not of the North...not really.  The common tongue is Arya Stark’s language and Arya of House Stark is dead.  He murdered her_ , Beltaine thought to herself bitterly, glaring at the Night’s King. _Someday, I’ll find out whether his real name is Dulrihan or Ramsay Bolton and when I do, he will suffer as Arya and her pack suffered._  

“I know what he said to you,” said the Night’s Queen.  

“Shut your lying, cunt mouth before I shut it for you,” snapped Dulrihan.  “If you make me come over there, I’ll take you right now.  And I swear by the Great Other that when I’m done, I’ll fuck you bloody with that sword of yours.”  She had never seen anyone look half so angry before...neither had Arya, for that matter.  The Night’s King had always acted like everything was just a game, but now it was as though he had suddenly decided to wear his true face. _He wouldn’t be this angry unless he believed it.  He...he is just trying to frighten me is all.  He’ll never hurt me again, not after hearing what it would do to him.  He wouldn’t do that to himself just to hurt me...would he?  He...he will not see me afraid.  Fear cuts deeper than swords.  Fear cuts deeper than swords.  The man who fears losing has already lost._

“I’m not lying,” Beltaine replied, “but you are.  I’ll prove it; he said that when the first Night’s King gave the first Night’s Queen his seed, he gave her his soul.  Since then, every Night’s King’s soul has been bound to that of whoever he chooses to be the Night’s Queen.”  

 “I told you to shut your cunt mouth, you lying wolf bitch,” snarled the Night’s King as he began walking towards her.   _Not today!  Not today!  Not today!  Not today!_

“I heard him tell you what that means too.  It means that you can’t hurt me anymore.  Now that you’ve taken me for a wife, you’ll feel any pain that I feel...but I can still hurt you.  The first Night’s Queen never gave the first Night’s King any of her soul.”  The Night’s King was standing directly in front of her.  He placed his hand on the back of her head and gently lifted her off the ground, holding her so close to his face that she could smell his icy breath when he opened his mouth to speak.  

“You’re a very lucky little wolf bitch,” the Night’s King growled.  “But not too lucky.  It would appear that I can’t flay you, but I promise that somehow, I will make you regret what you just did.  And on that day, you’ll wish that I had simply fucked you bloody with your sword.  I won’t let you off that –”  Beltaine spat in Dulrihan’s face, but he simply laughed.  

“That’s right,” he continued, “get all of that out of your system.  You’re just making it worse for yourself.  I suppose I won’t be able to take you as soon as I’d hoped either.  Pity.  You may be an ugly little bitch, but I was actually looking forward to that.  I do hope you’ll put up a fight.  It’s been far too long since I gave someone a good, hard raping.  But mayhaps it won’t come to that.  Who knows?  Maybe when you’ve forgotten everything about who you used to be, you’ll even ask me to SON OF A FUCKING WHORE’S CUNT,” the Night’s King screamed as she kneed him in the groin as hard as she could.  He dropped her and fell to his knees, screaming in pain.  

“Not today,” the Night's Queen replied in a flat voice.  

  “I...I am...am going...to...to kill you,” gasped Dulrihan, as he finally managed to stand up, albeit with great difficulty.  

“Of course you are, but until then, remember that I can still hurt you...bastard.  Did you hear me, bastard?  You don’t mind being called a bastard, do you, bastard?  Arya Stark’s favorite people were natural-born: my brother Jon and an armorer's apprentice from King's Landing.  Did you know that, bastard?  Now that I’ve met you, my least favorite person is also a bastard.”  

The Night’s King seethed with hatred, but ultimately turned around and stiffly approached the Sidhe who had spoken to him earlier.  The moment he reached the warrior, the Night’s King unsheathed the dragonglass dagger that he had begun carrying with him and drove it through the Sidhe’s right eye.   _NO!  I...I can’t say anything.  If I do, he might kill more of my little cousins just to upset me._

“The next time one of you blue-eyed shits has something to tell me, do it when the wolf cunt’s not around,” shouted the Night’s King.   _He’s going to figure out a way to hurt me someday,_ Beltaine thought to herself, biting her lip.   _I won’t let him see me afraid.  Fear cuts deeper than swords._

_He shouldn’t hurt the other Sidhe.  They can’t be my pack, but they are still my family.  The Night’s King...he only killed that one because I made him angry.  I didn’t mean for anyone to get killed.  I just...wanted to hurt the stupid Night’s King a little is all.  I...I wouldn’t have kicked him if I knew he’d...  He can’t even hurt me.  I should have stopped him...somehow.  I could have..._

_I will protect the other Sidhe from him_ , Beltaine decided. _I won’t let the Night’s King kill any more of my little cousins.  He won’t hurt them ever again.  Never!_


	48. Alliser

“Please, I can’t go on any more,” Samwell moaned, falling to his knees.   _Seven Hells.  Of all the men who could have discovered how to kill the Others, it had to be this one._

  “I don’t care about what you can or can’t do, Piggy.  Do you think I wanted to risk my life to save yours?  I’d have gladly left you for the dead men, but I didn’t have that luxury.  Most men were mocking you when they named you ‘Sam the Slayer,’ but any fool with eyes can see that you’re too bloody craven to lie about anything, much less killing an Other.  You figured out a way to kill them and since I don’t know what dragonglass looks like, I can’t let you die until we find more of it.  I may hate you near as much as I do Lord Snow, but we are both men of the Watch.  Right now, that means I have a duty to see that you live long enough to share your knowledge about the Others with someone who would be able to make good use of it.  Once you’ve done that, you can die whenever you bloody please,” Alliser snapped.  

“You can go to Winterfell.  Leave me here and tell Jon.  He...he’ll know what to do.  Jon will believe you.”   

“The Bastard of Winterfell is a man without honor, same as his father.  The blood will always tell.  Your baseborn champion is an oath breaker, no matter what Lord Commander Mallister said.  And the Others were heading towards Winterfell besides.  The castle has already fallen, most like.”  

“How do you –”   

“They stopped following us when we changed course and made for White Harbor, that’s how.  Now get up, you bloody craven.  We may be the only men of the Watch left, but we still have a duty to –”  

“I don’t care. Please just let me die."  

  “Nothing would please me more, but I can’t do that.  I don’t know why you joined the bloody Night’s Watch, Tarly, but it doesn’t matter.  I won’t let you die until you’ve shown me what dragonglass looks like and where on Dragonstone I can find it.”  

“Gilly, she...she’s dead.  I couldn’t protect her.  I don’t want to...”   

“Seven Hells, enough about that Wildling whore.”  

“Don’t call her that!”  

“What, a Wildling? Samwell Tarly, I order you to shut up about that bloody whore. And you’d best not start about the baby of hers either. That thing was an abomination born of incest and –”  

 “Stop talking about them like that,” Samwell shouted, standing up.  

“So long as you keep moving until we’ve reached White Harbor, I won’t call her that again.  That good enough for you, Piggy,” Alliser asked.  Samwell nodded.   _It bloody well better be._ “The horses got us most of the way besides.  It shouldn’t be too much farther.”   _Of course, if we don’t have enough horse meat to last the rest of the way..._

...  

_At least the bloody craven isn’t stupid.  Can’t say I’d have thought of cutting holes in the ice and using small pieces of horse flesh to lure fish to the surface so we could spear them with our swords.  Only reason we’re still alive, most like._

By the time they reached White Harbor, the two men had lost so much weight that he could barely support the weight of his own armor and even Samwell Tarly could’ve been called thin.  

Much and more had happened since the Wall came down.  Winterfell had fallen along with Karhold, Last Hearth, Deepwood Motte, and Barrowtown.  There was talk that the Others had made their way to the ruins of the Dreadfort.   _Just a rumor, nothing more_ , Alliser decided.   _According to Lord Manderly, no one’s lived there since Lord Snow had it torn down.  They won’t find any meat for their army in those lands._

White Harbor itself was already in the process of evacuating to Gulltown.  There had been some sort of chaos in the Vale following Stannis Baratheon’s disappearance and the new Lord Protector – _whatever his bloody name is_ – was allowing refugees from the North into the city for a price of thirty gold dragons per person.  

Men-at-arms were being granted entry as well, free of charge, under the condition that they renounced all prior oaths and swore oaths of loyalty to House Corbray.   _Lord Corbray, that was the bastard’s name!  I’ll wager that Stannis Baratheon’s pet rats in the Vale all have shit for honor, just like their master._

_Others take Stannis.  The man was a traitor, same as his brothers...same as the bloody Starks.  House Baratheon rebelled against King Areys.  Mad or sane, it matters not.  The man was the one true King and that meant every man’s loyalty should have been his by rights.  I remained loyal to House Targaryen after the war.  I was the only one who refused to bend the knee to that bloody traitor.  So his Lannister dog made me choose between death and the Wall.  Like a bloody fool, I thought there was honor in being a man of the Watch.  The Night’s Watch was nothing but a pack of bloody rapists, thieves, and murderers,_ Alliser thought to himself bitterly.   _At least I got a taste of revenge when Ned Stark’s oath-breaking bastard showed up.  Lord Snow had the Stark look and shit for honor, same as his father.  The blood will always tell._

_I suppose I should be grateful to Lord Manderly.  The man may be a fat fool, but he was plainly a friend of the Watch.  Else he wouldn’t have paid sixty gold dragons to ensure that Ser Piggy and I made it to safety._


	49. The King in the North

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to reiterate that Ramsay is his own warning. This is a Night's King/Ramsay POV. Consider yourselves...err...warned.

The Wight that was once Stannis Baratheon continued to stare emotionlessly at its master.  It still had the same blank expression that it’d had before Dulrihan cut off its left thumb and index finger with his flaying knife.  With a disappointed sigh, the Night’s King put down his knife and dismissed the creature with a wave of his hand.  _It is a sad day when I can’t even take pleasure in flaying my enemies.  At least it wasn’t as boring as this morning’s hunt...the Karstark girl nearly got away.  The Wights were entirely unsatisfactory hunting dogs. I had to use a raven to find the cunt.  She was frozen to death by the time I got there.  I should have just chained her up and taken her.  I could have finally –_

_No!  Father would have wanted me to put a baby in the wolf cunt first...before taking anyone else.  He said that I would be his heir if I put a baby in Arya Stark.  I have to do it.  Father said!  Otherwise he’d give the Deadfort...no, that’s not it.  The Dreadfort!  He’d disinherit me and give the Dreadfort to...to someone else.  The Dreadfort may be a pile of rubble, but it is mine by rights.  I am NOT a bastard.  I suppose the Karstark girl had to die before I got tired of waiting and raped her instead._

_Father said Stark not Karstark!  Arya Stark!  I must needs put a baby in Arya Stark!  How am I supposed to do that?  I can’t rape her...not with what it would do to me.  I suppose that would give fucking oneself a new meaning,_ the Night’s King thought himself bitterly. _The Sidhe have blue eyes just like father...just like Ramsay Bolton did.  They are my brothers and sisters.  They pretend to serve me loyally, but any of them would kill me if I gave them half a chance.  Being a kinslayer never bothered me, why should it bother any of them...or anyone for that matter?  No enemy is half so dangerous as one’s kin._

_Of course, if there were a way to get her to agree to it...  Beltaine is...different than the girls Ramsay Bolton killed.  She’s fiercer...like a Bolton_ , the Night’s King thought to himself with what might have been pride.   _And whatever else the cunt may be, she’d be a better looking bitch than any of the ones that Ramsay hunted, raped, and skinned.  Mayhaps...  NO! NO!  NO!  NO!  NO!  NO!  NO!  NO!  NO!  NO!  It’s no fun unless they’re afraid.  Even taking the wolf bitch would be boring if I couldn’t see the fear in her eyes right before I did it.  And she’d rather die than let me take her besides._

_You can’t just take someone and kill them...not without tasting their fear first.  The look in a girl’s eyes when she realizes that I’m still going to kill her whether she begs, fights, or submits will always be sweeter than her honey.  Some didn’t realize it until Ramsay started skinning them, but most of them started to lose hope by the time he unsheathed his hunting knife.  They all looked at me the same way sooner or later when I was Ramsay Bolton...all except the wolf bitch.  How am I supposed to make her fear me when can’t rape, flay, or beat her?_

_Is this your revenge, father?  Making me wed the wolf bitch and endure her insolence for the rest of eternity?  Did the two of you plan this together?  No, it had to be your doing, she never would have agreed to it.  You always favored that little shit I poisoned.  He wasn’t a real Bolton!  You’ve cursed me, is that the way of it?_  “Answer me, you old bastard,” Dulrihan shouted, slamming his fist into the wall.  

_I’ll have to be careful before playing any more games with the remaining prisoners.  All I have left are the two Freys they brought to me from Deep...Deepwood...wherever it was. The boys were being kept as hostages, most like. I’ll have to make them last.  Soon I’ll have no one left to flay.  What was I thinking, of course I will..._

...  

“Reek, you will always remain loyal, won't you,” the Night’s King asked with a wet-lipped smile.  

"Of course, my Lord.  I...I am loyal Reek, forever and –”  

"Yes, yes, very good.  It pleases me to see that you have remained as loyal as ever.  In fact, I think you deserve a reward for showing me such loyalty."  

"A...a reward?” 

"Yes, Reek, I have quite a treat for you.  You will have the privilege of providing me with a bit of entertainment.  It has been an awfully boring day and I'm sure my loyal pet wants nothing more in the whole wide world than to add a bit of excitement to my day. Isn’t that generous of me?"

“Yes, v-very generous, master.” 

“Don't worry, I promise that I will still leave you with all seven fingers.  I know!  Why don’t you decide which hand I go to work on first.”  

“The...the left one if it please you, master."  

...   

Dulrihan’s mood had improved a great deal by the time he left his chamber.  He walked through Winterfell, wandering from room to room and watching Reek’s pathetic attempts to hobble in and out of each chamber with considerable amusement.  The mere sound of his pet struggling to keep up as it stumbled along behind its master brought a smile to his as he reflected upon his work.  _True to my word, I left him all seven fingers._

“Reek, you made your master very happy today, did you know that?”

“Thank...thank you, mas – ”  

“But I’m afraid I’m a bit confused about something and mayhaps you can help me. I could’ve sworn I just heard you crying, but that can’t possibly be right since I don’t recall giving you permission to do so. Maybe I’m just hearing things, could that be it?”  

“Please master," Reek began before falling down yet again. 

“I suppose we can let it slide this time, but if you ever cry again without my permission, I shall have to punish you. Do you understand?”  

“Yes. Th-thank you, master.”  

“Very well then, I forgive you, Reek.  I don’t see what you’re even whining about.  I never said I wouldn't take a few more toes, did I?  You didn't mind, did you?”  

“No...master only punishes me when I make him.”  

“That’s a good Reek.”  

The Night’s King remained pre-occupied with his pet's inability to walk without falling flat on his face until he entered one of Winterfell’s guest chambers.  The moment he entered the room, his thoughts were interrupted by a voice that was quickly becoming the bane of his existence.

"Must you honor me with your presence every day, King Snow," asked Beltaine.  

“Call me that again and I'll do a lot more than honor you,” Dulrihan snapped.  

"Sorry, it’s just...I thought you didn't want me to call you a bastard anymore is all.  I could call you King Bastard instead, if you'd like."  

"Listen, you little cunt, if you say that word one more time – "  

"You'll what?  Run away like a scared little girl the way you did when your father died?  Some big killer you are, a coward who tortures people that are too weak to fight back.”  

“I came back, didn’t I? I avenged my father when I killed the Bastard of Winterfell.”  

 “But you live in Winterfell and you’re a bastard. Doesn’t that make you the Bastard of Winterfell?”  

“Shut up!”  

“Why?  I’m not afraid of you. You can't hurt me anymore, remember?”  

"Of course I remember," the Night’s King snarled. "Why do you think I haven’t had your bloody tongue out?”  Beltaine rolled her eyes.

_Father cheated me...forcing me to endure this bitch’s insolence. I can’t even claim my bloody rights as a husband. That Sidhe bastard knew. I imagine all of the blue-eyed shits knew, but none of them warned me until after the wedding. Worse yet, my ever loyal subjects made sure to inform me of this right in front of her.  The cunt hasn’t gone a day without calling me a bastard since. And she’ll never fear me again besides._

_Father may be dead, but I know what he'd have said if he were here: "You've let a fourteen year-old girl run roughshod over you because you’re too weak to bare the pain it would take to discipline her properly.  You will never be a Bolton...only a Snow unfit to uphold my tradition.  I should've thrown you into the river the day that you were born."_

“Tell me, sweet wife, when you think about the Purple Wedding –”

“The Red Wedding?”

“Yes, that’s the one. Do you ever wonder what it would've been like if you’d been there?  You must have wondered whether you could have somehow saved your mother if you had only been there.  Of course, you’d have simply been killed too, most like.  But at least that poor little girl – the one you were before I turned you into what you are today – would've had a few more moments with her family before everyone she ever loved was chopped up like fresh meat right before her very eyes."  The Night’s King smiled as Beltaine silently stared at him, her blue eyes burning with hatred.   _That shut her up!  Mayhaps I’ll enjoy playing with someone this...challenging._

"And we mustn’t forget about poor dead...err...Ned Stark,” he continued. “The dumb bastard just couldn't keep his head about him.  I suppose you could say that I'm the only family you have left.  Oh but don't worry, you know what they say: Time heals all wounds.  Another week and I bet you won't even remember what anyone in your...err...Arya’s dead family looked like.  It’ll be as though they never even existed. Of course, even if they were alive, I doubt any of them would want you back. Not after what I’ve done to you."  Beltaine bit her lip and for a moment she looked as though she were about to cry, but there was not even a hint of fear and it only lasted a few seconds.  

"Oh dear, you look as though something is troubling you, my Lady. I do hope I haven't upset you with all the talk about Arya Stark’s dead family."  

Beltaine said nothing and simply continued to stare at the Night’s King with her cold, blue eyes.   _This may be a way to hurt her, but I must needs find a different tool if I am going to break her.  And she's still not afraid of me besides._

"I’m not a Lady,” the Night’s Queen muttered.  “Is your real name still Ramsay Bolton or is it Dulrihan now?”  

"I am both and yet I am neither," replied the Night’s King. _At least I can still make her angry.  She hates when I answer that way for some reason.  Something about a list.  It...stop looking at me like that, you bloody wolf bitch.  It was bad enough when father stared at Ramsay Bolton that way, you little...  I must needs remain calm._

"So, do you want me to call you King Bastard or not?"  

"Shut...I'm not...I was naturalized.”   _You will NOT make me lose control of myself!  I am the Night’s King!  The wolf bitch does not get to make me_ _do things. She does not control me!  I will not lose my temper unless I want to; she can't make me_ , the Night’s King thought to himself, grinding his teeth as his face began to twitch.  

"You look as though something is troubling you, King Bastard. I do hope I haven’t upset you, what with all the talk about how you’re still the stupidest, ugliest bastard ever and -”  

"I swear by...by the Great Other...by the...Old Gods and...and the New...if...if you...say that word...one...more...time –"  

"Bastard, bastard, bastard, bastard, bastard, bastard, bastard, bastard!"  

"SHUT UP, YOU LOOK LIKE A STUPID, UGLY LITTLE BOY!"  

"But I thought that was why you were attracted to me,” Beltaine replied in a voice dripping with sarcasm, opening her eyes as wide as she could.  “There weren't any little boys left in the North, so you married a little girl who reminded you of one."  

“I told you to shut your cun–”  

“One more thing, bastard.  If you ever hurt any of the other Sidhe again –”  

“YOU CAN”T TELL ME WHAT TO DO,” the Night’s King roared.   _I will hurt you for this...somehow._

“You're not very smart, are you?  If you hurt any of them ever again, I’ll kill myself.  If you feel any pain that I feel, what do you think will happen to you if I die?  You’ll never hurt any of them again, do you understand?”  The Night’s King nodded, baring his teeth.   

  “Good.  You have my leave to go now, bastard.”  

For a moment, the Night’s King simply stood there, shaking with anger.  Finally, he stormed out of the room to find Reek curled up in a ball on the floor like a scared child.  Dulrihan looked down at his pet and smiled.   _That's the answer right there. It's been in front of me this whole time.  I can't hurt her, but there are still others I can hurt if she misbehaves.  People she might not want me to hurt even if she is no longer Arya Stark. If I still remember father..._

"Come Reek, there are people I must needs find and preparations to be made.  There is so much work to do.  We can start with your teeth.  You don’t really need to chew your food." _Reek...Reek will not disobey me.  Never!_


	50. Asha

It had been two years since Asha left the Iron Islands and soon she would finally return to Pyke.  As ever, all that stood in her way were her bloody nuncles.  The Crow’s Eye was known to have disappeared after leaving to chase after dragons, but another Kingsmoot had reportedly been held.   _Victarion won’t sit on the Seastone Chair for long._  The Dragon Queen already has Dorne and the bloody Stormlands.  However, her army of unsullied continued to shrink with every conquest and the attempted Reach offensive had been a disaster.  Some greenlander named Randyll Tarly had soundly defeated Ser Barristan and his men at Ashford before trapping them in the Reach. The final straw had come when Daenarys announced that she would not attack the Vale until whatever evacuation was rumored to be underway in Gulltown had been completed. _I am done waiting; I will take the Seastone Chair myself! The Dragon Queen can do as she wishes with the bloody greenlanders._

_Whatever else Victarion may be, he is still my nuncle.  I gave him one last chance to bend the knee before summoning the Drowned God. Mayhaps Aeron will welcome my return once he sees what the Salt Horn can do_ , Asha thought to herself with a smirk. She hadn’t expected it to work. One of Euron’s former captains had desperately offered it to her, hoping that she would spare his life after her fleet captured his ship. They were not far from the Shield Islands, where Euron’s remaining followers had fled, so she had ordered the fool to blow the horn and promised to not to kill him if the Drowned God rose from the deep. By the end of the day, the Shield Islands had been reduced to an uninhabitable pile of rubble. True to her word, Asha spared his life...although she still had him thrown overboard.  

...  

“Your Grace,” said Tristifer.  

“What is it?”  

“Am I interrupting something, Your Grace?”  

“Remind me again why I haven’t given you a small boat to die on during our next battle.”  

“The Iron Fleet is closing in on –”  

“We are the Iron Fleet now, Tristifer. Has Qarl returned yet?”  

“No, Your Grace. There’s been no word from him since you sent him to deliver your terms to Victarion.”  

“He’s dead most like...so be it.  Are any of my nuncle’s ships visible from the deck?”  

“Most of them, yes, Your Grace.”  

“Good. Bring me the Salt Horn.”  

Asha summoned a Ghiscari slaver who had been made a slave aboard her ship after he’d been captured during the Sack of Tyrosh.  The dumb bastard agreed to blow the Salt Horn in exchange for his freedom.   _He’s welcome to his bloody freedom, but he won’t have long to enjoy it. The man who blew the horn when we attacked the Shield Islands was already half dead by the time we threw him into the sea._

Aaaarrrrreeeeeeeeee!  

Aaaarrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeee!  

 Aaaarrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!  

From the deck of her ship, Asha could see a large shadow rising from the depths of Ironman’s Bay off in the distance...and then the screams began.  

A tentacle rose from the ocean, sinking one of Victarion’s ships. Soon another shot up from the depths, destroying two more of her nuncle’s ships. The third tentacle wrecked one of her own. Soon, the Drowned God himself rose from the depths of Ironman’s Bay. Its head resembled an octopus, largely due to the hundreds of tentacles surrounding its mouth. The Drowned God had dragon-like wings and its body was covered in rubbery scales.  

By the time the Drowned God began to sink back down into the watery depths of Ironman’s Bay, it had destroyed every ship in her nuncle’s fleet along with half of her own. _The Drowned God was plainly attacking everything in sight. And he didn’t surface for half so long the first time. The Salt Horn is far too dangerous to use as a weapon...or anything else for that matter_ , Asha decided, tossing it overboard.  

...  

It took several days for her fleet to reorganize after the battle, but by the time remaining ships were ready to sail again, it had already become plain that there would not be a battle for Pyke. The Iron Fleet was no more and Asha was soon greeted by the sight of a mangled corpse floating in the sea. The body was brought aboard her ship. It took Asha a moment to recognize the body of the man who had been the King of the Iron Islands: Victarion Greyjoy.  

“Set sail for Pyke,” she commanded, walking away from the rotting corpse. “We are going home.”  


	51. Lyn

“We have the the boy, my Lord,” said Ser Targon.   _Any fool with eyes could see that Robin Arryn planned to have me dropped through the moon door.  Jon Arryn’s son or not, you won’t be making this bad man fly.  Not so bloody tough once I had your mother poisoned, were you, you giggling little shit?  Hadn’t expected it to get that copper-counter from King’s Landing killed, but luckily there are still plenty of other ways to procure little boys._

“Good,” replied Lord Corbray. “There are dangerous men lurking about in the Vale.  I fear the poor boy must needs be put under lock and key for his own protection until he has been...persuaded to formally name me Lord Protector of the Vale.  After that...well...Robin Arryn always was a sickly child.  I fear he may not survive the winter...”  

“He’s survived this long, my Lord. If there is reason to believe that his condition may grow worse, it might be best to call Maest –”  

“I mean to have the boy poisoned once he has formally named me Lord Protector, you bloody idiot,” Lyn snapped. “I trust that House Redfort has been dealt with?”  

“Aye, the new Lord Redfort bent the knee after we killed his father, my Lord.”  

Bronze Yohn had been captured along with his eldest son, the Queen, and Lord Nestor Royce not long after the new Lord Protector of the Vale seized control of Gulltown. It was with great satisfaction that Lyn Corbray had personally executed his predecessor as Lord Protector of the Vale.   _Look at you now, Bronze fucking Yohn. You’re dead, your second son took the better part of your army down with him when he died, your heir is my prisoner, Lord Nestor is a hostage as well, your daughter is sitting in a sky cell, and I’m Lord Protector of the Vale._

Lord Corbray’s negotiations with Aurane Waters – some dumb bastard with a navy who had styled himself as the Lord of Dragonstone after Stannis Baratheon’s disappearance – had led to an invaluable alliance. However the fool had come to possess such a large fleet, it had been the deciding factor in the Battle of Gulltown. The better portion of the Royce army was wiped out the next day, after Ser Robar Royce – plainly lacking his father’s strategic abilities – snatched defeat from the jaws of victory on the outskirts of the city. Ser Robar himself was slain and the Royce army was crushed despite its numerical superiority. The Waynwoods bent the knee not long afterward, as did most of the other Vale Lords, save for House Redfort. The Eyrie had only been taken because the men there were taken unawares by Lord Hunter’s forces.  

The so-called Lord of Dragonstone had made one other contribution: a man by the name of Qyburn. Lord Aurane had apparently grown tired of him, but Gulltown’s Maester had died recently and a replacement was needed. Qyburn had proven himself to be far more knowledgable than any Maester that Lord Corbray had ever seen...even if he insisted that he wasn’t one of those old fools. _Odd man though. Mayhaps even insane._

_Most of the men coming into Gulltown these days claim to be fleeing from White Harbor to escape the Others. Of course, the Others are just a story to scare children. The Wildlings finally made it past the Wall, most like. Even so, it was most peculiar when Qyburn began pleading to be sent North – to Winterfell, of all places – so that he could study inner-workings of an Other’s body. A man of his learning should know better than to believe such non-sense. If he keeps going off about it, I may just have to grant his request to be sent to Winterfell. Let the Wildlings decide what to do with him. The man’s scientific knowledge may be second to none, but all the same, it won’t do for Gulltown to have a Maester – or whatever it is that Qyburn wants to be called – who keeps trying to send ravens to the bloody Night’s King. Next he’ll be telling me that the Targaryen girl actually has three dragons,_ Lyn thought to himself with a chuckle.  

“Very good,” said Lord Corbray. “And what of the smuggler? Has he been captured yet? Much as I enjoyed the looks of disgust the man was always giving me, the onion knight would’ve had to die even if he hadn’t spirited the greyscale girl out of Gulltown. Without the the Princess, I have nothing I can give the winner of the war in the Reach to prove my loyalty. Ysilla Royce was merely betrothed to Stannis, making her worthless. I imagine the so-called Targaryen girl will win that war. Most of the false dragon’s supporters have declared for her and the Lannisters are still hiding from her in that bloody rock of theirs.”  

“The smuggler seems to have knocked himself off the board, my Lord. His ship was last seen sailing towards Skagos. Since we received that last raven, there’s been no word from the ships you sent after him. The men aboard them are dead, most like. No one ever returns from those waters.”  

“As you say, Ser. If the Princess was with him, she’ll be dead soon too, most like.  No sense wasting any more ships chasing after a dead man.”


	52. The King in the North

“Ah, there you are; I’ve been looking for you.  It’d be much easier to find you if you spent more time in my...well..I suppose it’s now our bedchamber, isn’t it,” asked the Night’s King as he entered one of Winterfell’s guest chambers.  

“I stay away from your bedchamber because I don’t want to be anywhere near you, stupid,” Beltaine replied.  

“Something wrong, my Lady?  The winter snows killed all the flowers you were hoping to pick, is that it?”   _Who would have thought talking about flowers and sewing would be the simplest way to make the bitch lose her temper?_

“I don’t want to pick any stupid flowers.”  

“In any case, it’s past time we got rid of that little sword that you’re always carrying around.  A proper lady such as yourself shouldn’t be playing with such things.”  

“I’m not a Lady and if you ever touch Needle, I’ll –”  

“What’s that, my Lady?”  

“Shut up!”  

“Now, now, is that any way to speak to your beloved Lord husband?” _I suppose the game can wait a little while, no need to rush things._

“You’re right,” the Night’s Queen replied, “that was most rude of me.  Forgive me, Your Grace.  What I meant to say was ‘shut up, King Cripple of House Bastard.’”  

“I warned you not to call me that again,” snapped the Night’s King, his smirk turning into a scowl.  

“No, you said not to call you King Bastard of House Cripple.”  

“Stop calling me that, you little cunt.”  

“But you are a bastard.”  

“I was naturalized. That means I’m not a Snow.”  

“Yes, you are.”  

“No...I’m...NOT!”  

“Are too!”  

“Am not!”  

“Are too!”  

“Am... Listen, you –”  

“Listen to you babble like an idiot?  Mayhaps another time.  I have more pressing matters to attend to at the moment.  I can't imagine what they would be, but I'm sure whatever I decide to do will be far more important than anything you have to say,” said Beltaine.  “You have my leave to go, King Bastard,” she added, sounding as though nothing could have bored her half so much as their conversation.  

“For the last bloody time, you do NOT give me commands,” snapped the Night’s King.  

“That wasn’t a command, stupid.  I gave you permission to leave.”  

“I don’t need your permission to do anything!” 

“I was giving you a command when I ordered you never to hurt any of the other Sidhe though.  And the time that I told you to stop complaining about your belly.  You feel any pain I do, so you and your stupid belly had better get used to that feeling,” the Night’s Queen replied, rolling her eyes.   _I must needs remain calm and suffer the bitch’s insolence...for now. The game we’re going to play will be more than worth it, most like._  

“I...I do believe we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, sweet wife,” said Dulrihan, his face still twitching with anger.  “I only wanted to say that I have a surprise for you.  I imagine you’ll have quite a bit of fun with it.”

“You’re dying?”  

“No, I’m afraid that’s never going to happen.”  _Was that supposed to upset me?  Surely the cunt can do better than that._  

“Then I don’t care about your stupid surprise...unless...are you going to tell me whether your real name is Dulrihan or Ramsay Bolton?  Is that the surprise?  I’ll finally be able to kill you?”  

“You know, it really is a shame that I’ll never have a chance to take you hunting.  Most of the girls simply ran away, but you...I do believe you might have actually tried to fight back.  You’d have still ended up dead, of course, but it would’ve been a hunt to remember...even if you aren’t quite big enough to make a proper pelt.” 

“Tell me your real name and we can go hunting today, if you’d like.  I’ll even give you a head start.  Maybe...”  

“Mayhaps another time.”  

“Why not today?  Just think, you’ll never have to hear anyone call you a bastard ever again once you’re dead.  You once said that the Boltons hung the skins of their enemies in the Dreadfort.  I could hang yours in Winterfell for you, if you’d like.”  

“Look at you...already eager to hunt men down like dogs.  You really would’ve fit right in at the Dreadfort, although I imagine father would’ve hated you. Whoever you were before I...ah...changed you, these days I find it hard to believe you weren’t born a Bolton.”  _The wolf bitch is not a true Bolton, but I imagine telling her that she’s become one will make the her more miserable than anything else I can do.  Although if I could create Reek then mayhaps I can turn her into one.  She’ll require a few adjustments, to be sure. It can be a new game for us to play!_

“I’m not a stupid Bolton!  I am a...a dire...I...d-don’t ever call me that again,” said Beltaine, before biting her lip.   _Always a good sign when she does that!  If I can't scare the wolf bitch when she angers me, I suppose I'll have to settle for making her want to cry.  I will have those tears one of these days!_

“But the flayed man is on House Bolton’s banners.  In a way those are still my...well...I suppose they’d be our banners now.  And you did just threaten to skin me, didn’t you?”  

“No, I...shut up!”  

“And of course, even if I hadn’t changed you, your name would still be Arya Bolton by all the laws of Gods and men. I suppose that makes you as much a Bolton as I am or was.”  

“If you ever call me ‘Arya Bolton’ again, I’ll kill you...whatever your stupid name –”  

“No need to worry about that, sweet wife.  Your name is Beltaine now; you’ve been very clear about that.  Of course, if you ever give me a daughter, I will name her Arya.  You don’t mind, do you?  After all, you said yourself that your name isn’t Arya Stark anymore, so it shouldn’t cause any confusion.  I suppose it will be strange for you, watching little Arya Bolton grow up.”  

“But even if you could kill me,” continued the Night’s King as he ducked to avoid the bronze candlestick holder that came flying across the room at his head, “that’d mean you’d never get to cross Walder Frey off that list you’re always going off about.”  

“Walder Frey is dead, stupid.  And if you say even one more word about getting me with child – ” 

“I didn’t mean the late Lord Frey.  Reek, you can bring him in now,” he shouted.  Reek nudged a young boy into the room. _Hard to say which of them is shaking more._

“I don’t care about some stupid Frey who isn’t even old enough to have had anything to do with the Red Wedding.”  

“But this isn’t just any Frey. This one is apparently known as Big Walder Frey, or so he says.  He has a brother named Little Walder whom I’m going to turn into a Sidhe and make my squire.  I’ve grown a bit fond of boy ever since I saw him trip Reek and send my pet tumbling down the stairs. Of course, I had to punish Reek for nearly letting the boy escape. Don’t have much use for this one though, so he’s yours to do with as you wish.  Oh and you should know that Reek told me that when our dear Freys were wards of House Stark at Winterfell, Big Walder here told a boy named Theon Greyjoy where two little wolf pups were hiding to save his own life. Err...that will be all, Reek. You’d best leave us now.”   _Wouldn’t want her to kill him too.  She would’ve already killed him with that damn spoon if I had shown up a moment later. And then there was the bloody chicken bone.  Who tries to kill a man with a chicken bone?  I wonder what she’ll do when she learns that poor Walder was simply an innocent child...after she’s killed him, of course._

“I...d-d-did not...I...” stuttered Big Walder.  

“Shut up,” Dulrihan and Beltaine shouted in unison.  

“He...he led Theon to Arya’s brother,” asked the Night’s Queen. _Let the games begin!_

“Oh yes, one could even say the boys are dead because of him.”  

“Boys?  Robb was at Winterfell?”  

“No, Brandon and Rickon Stark. Reek said –”  

“Arya Stark only had two brothers, stupid.  Rickon and the one your father betrayed.”  

“What I’m trying to say is that Reek told me that this boy led Theon to your – ”  

“And that’s how Theon was able to kill Arya’s brother?”  

“I suppose Reek would know that better than anyone, wouldn’t he?  Surely that’s enough to put the Frey boy on your list, isn’t it?”  

“It’s a prayer, not a list, stupid.”  

“After everything that has happened, you still think someone will answer your prayers,” the Night’s King asked, struggling to contain his laughter.  

“Arya Stark never prayed to the one true God,” said Beltaine.  

“She should have been praying to me.”   _Not that it would have done her any good._  

“Why would anyone pray to you?  You’re not the Great Other, stupid.”  

“You still haven’t answer my question.  Is leading Theon Greyjoy to Arya Stark’s broth...err...to Rickon Stark enough to earn our friend of Frey a place of honor in your prayer?”  

“Might be; why do you care?”  

“I care because I imagine it will be quite a bit of fun to watch you kill something, simple enough really.  Mayhaps we could take the boy hunting.  Would you like that?”  

“No, but could I...could...could I borrow your flaying knife?”  

“Of course, you can!  Nothing would please me more,” the Night’s King exclaimed, unable to contain his excitement as Beltaine approached him.  

“Thank you,” she replied, smiling at him.  

“Mayhaps my wolf will find herself in the heat when she’s finished,” said the Night’s King with a wet-lipped smile.   _She is already fourteen.  A woman grown and a very beautiful one at that.  I’d say my sweet wife is well past due for a good, long rape.  I imagine she’d put up quite the fight, but that’s half the fun right there!  Awfully boring if they’ve already been broken in.  If you get one like that, all you can really do is go through the motions.  I’m sick of waiting to put a baby in the bloody wolf cunt.  If I can’t rape her, I’ll have to figure out some way.  I hope you’re happy, father!  One way or another though, I’ll make the wolf howl.  I’m tired of waiting!_

“I’d rather die, now are you going to give me the stupid knife or not,” asked the Night’s Queen, her smile turning into a scowl.  

“Yes, yes, very well,” replied the Night’s King, frowning in disappointment. _I’ve given her a Frey, what more does the cunt want from me?  I’m not going to let her hurt Reek.  He is my pet.  MINE!  At least I’ll get to watch her kill something._  As the Night’s King began to unsheathe his flaying knife, Beltaine grabbed the dragonglass dagger from his knifebelt and pointed it directly at his groin. 

“And...and just what do you think you’re going to do with that?  Something interesting, I hope.”  

“You must be the stupidest bastard in Westeros,” Beltaine snapped, rolling her eyes in disgust.  “Did you really think I’d ever believe a word you said?  I think it was the other Frey who told Theon where Rickon was hiding.  I think that’s why you liked him.  Oh, and if you ever speak of getting me with child again, I’ll unman you. Do you understand?  I can’t hear you,” she shouted.  

“I under...I understand.” _You'd best keep that dagger, you little cunt. Else I’m going to fuck you bloody with that sword of yours one of these days.  I don’t care what it does to me._

“Mayhaps I should unman you anyway.  What do you think?  You’ve stolen so much from me, so it’s only fair that I take something away from you,” she continued.  

“The dragonglass will kill me and you...you still don’t know my real name yet.  That means you can't kill me.” _Doesn’t it?_  

“I suppose I could wait until I find out your real name, but you'll have to do something first if you want to live another second.  You have to admit that you’re a bastard."  

“I was naturalized.  That means I’m not a – ”  

“‘Kill me now!’  Was that what you just said?”  

“I am...I...I am a...I AM GOING TO KILL YOU,” the Night’s King roared.  

“Last chance.”  

“No!  Wait!  I...I am...my name was...was once Ramsay Snow.”  

“Not a Snow, a bastard.  Say it right now,” snapped Beltaine.  

“I...I am...a bastard,” Dulrihan mumbled.  

“What’s that?  I can’t hear you.”  

“I AM A BASTARD and I...I...I swear by the Great Other that you will rue this day, you little cunt!”  

“You’re not very smart, are you?  Call me that again and I might change my mind about not unmanning you.  I think I’ll keep this dagger,” said Beltaine as she carefully backed away from the Night’s King. “You really shouldn’t be playing with such things.  Oh and you’ll have to find yourself a new squire. Little Walder is about to accidentally stab himself to death.”  

...  

_There never was a Bran Stark? Reek must needs be punished for getting that bit wrong. Fortunately, one of the raven wights had recently seen a boy with the Stark look living on Skagos. If Reek is to be believed, the boy is of the right age to be Rickon Stark and the woman living with him fit his description of the Wildling whore that helped the boy escape from Winterfell. How hard can it be to find one wolf pup on a small island?_

_The wolf cunt won’t be so insolent once I have her little shit of a brother. She may not be Arya anymore, but she has to remember him. I still remember father. I don’t remember many things, but I remember him. I wedded Arya Stark. I still have to put a baby in her, but I’ve come close enough already. I am a Bolton, not a Snow. Father would have said as much if he were here. He would have made me his heir; he...he said he would if I found a way to marry the wolf bitch. Soon I will have the Stark boy and the wolf bitch will never call me a bastard again. Never!_

Beltaine’s words echoed through his mind. _“‘You are a bastard.’  ‘The stupidest bastard in Westeros.’  ‘Admit that you’re a bastard.’  ‘Bastard, bastard, bastard, bastard, bast –’ ”_

“SHUT UP!” the Night’s King roared, punching Big Walder in the face so hard that the blow knocked him unconscious and sent at least five teeth flying out of the boy’s mouth.  _Are these vermin good for anything?  I suppose there’s no point flaying someone unless they’re awake_ , he decided, frowning.  

...  

“Reek, get in here, NOW,” the Night’s King shouted once he had finally regained his composure.  

“Yes, master,” the creature whimpered, bursting into the room.  

“You told me that there were three Stark boys. You said that Bran and Rickon Stark were at Winterfell when Theon Greyjoy captured it. The wolf cunt says that she had only two brothers: Robb Stark and Rickon Stark. Do you know what I think? I don’t think there ever was a Bran Stark. I don’t think there has ever been anyone with that name. I think you lied to me,” the Night’s King snarled.  

“But there...there were, Bran and R-R-Rick – ”  

“Mayhaps I’m just going soft in the head and this whole thing is one big misunderstanding.  Could that be it?”  

“No! If master says, then it has to be true. Master is never wrong. Forgive me, I – ”  

“I was going to gouge out your left eye my flaying knife and cut off your lips,” said the Night’s King, “but since you’ve apologized like a good Reek, I’ll only take two of your fingers. You can even wield the blade yourself this time, won’t that be fun?”  

“Thank you, master. Master is kind and merciful and generous and –”  

“Yes, yes, yes. Well, best to it,” he said, handing his pet the knife.   _At least I will always have a Reek to play with!_


	53. Osha

_I should have known they were coming when the first of the Crowls went missing. I should have known what it meant when the air grew cold and the snow. I suppose a part of me always knew the Others had come, but how could they have made it south of the Wall?_  She had tried to ignore the signs at first and continued to do the same thing that she did every day: care for the little Lord whom the Skagosi had named their King.  

“We have to go...NOW,” Osha shouted. The little Lord did not even bother to answer, his eyes remained fixated on the trees. He had spent so many hours staring at them that one could almost be mistaken for thinking they were speaking to him.  

“Rickon! Stop staring at the bloody trees!”  

Rickon had grown even wilder during his time on Skagos. He was no longer the wolf pup who had spent his days asking when his older brother would be back. Of late, the little Lord would simply ignore her and he seldom spoke of his kin anymore. In truth, the boy was as much a Skagosi as he was a Stark.  

Most of the Skaogsi had taken to calling him “the Young Wolf,” save for the Stanes who addressed the Little Lord as “Azor Ahai” on account of Shaggydog. They believed that Azor Ahai would come to Skagos with a direwolf. For a time, it had seemed as though Rickon Stark might be able to live out the rest of his days in safety.  But dead men and worse had come to the island and she could not pretend any longer. _It may be too late already...  No!  I did not come this far...I did not bring the boy this far to get killed by the dead men._

Once the Boltons took over the North, Skagos seemed no more dangerous than the rest of the North. They had made it to the island and after days of hunting with Shaggydog, they had been found.   _If the Crowls had found us instead of the Stanes, they’d have skinned us alive and eaten us, most like._

“RICKON!”   _How did the bloody dead men got so many damned boats.  Don’t much matter, I suppose._   The Crowls had tried to fight the monsters despite and now Skagos was crawling with dead men. The Stanes had nearly been wiped out by the time the Magnars figured out that the dead men could be killed with fire, but it was plain that they would not last much longer.  

“I can’t leave them! They are my people and I…I am their King! Harren...he said I was a God. He said I was Az...Azor Ahai reborn and...you don’t believe me,” Rickon snapped.   _We don’t have time for this!_

“Listen to me, little Lord.  Even if you are this Azor Ahai like Harren and the rest of the Stanes said, you won’t be any good to them dead. We have to leave if you ever want to save any of them.”  

“Leave? No! This...Skagos is my home. Everyone who leaves home goes to the bad place!  All of them...just...just...just like at Winterell.  Robb...Father…Arya…Sansa…Bran…Mother.”  The little Lord began to cry for the first time in ages.  

“We can discuss this later.  We’re not far from the boats the dead men came on.  And you are Rickon of House Stark. Winterfell will always be your home.”  

“No…not anymore. I saw it, Osha! The trees showed me Winterfell. The monsters are living there now, with their blue eyes. There were so many of them… I saw it! The trees...they show me things. They even talk to me sometimes.”   _There’s no other way_ , Osha decided, knocking the little Lord unconscious with a large stick before he could understand what was happening and picking him up.  

Shaggydog snarled at her and seemed ready to attack until its eyes seemed to roll back into its head for a moment and the direwolf calmly trotted over to her. The three of them managed to make their way into one of the small boats and escape from the island.  

Eventually, a larger ship came across them and forced them to come aboard, even though Shaggydog had only been allowed on board once Osha convinced Rickon to keep it calm while she put chains on the beast. The men had plainly realized the little Lord was a Stark the moment that they saw the direwolf. The ship’s captain claimed to be a Lord, although Osha doubted the man was being honest about that, even if he didn't seem to wish them ill. _What sort of Lord would use an onion as his sigil?_


	54. Bran

He had been in the cave below the great weirwood tree for two full years when Brynden Rivers closed his pale, milky eyes for the final time. Bran and Meera supped in silence that night and even Hodor said his name less than usual.  

By then, Bran’s training was already complete. It was as though the weirwoods answered every thought he had with a vision. Many of the visions brought him great joy: Jon driving the Boltons from Winterfell, Arya journeying home, the return of dragons to the realm, and Sansa arriving safely in Riverrun. But he had also seen things which made him weep: the Red Wedding, the entire city of King's Landing reduced to a pile of rubble, and the Others bringing down the Wall. After that, there was only...darkness. Since winter came, he could see nothing of the North...nothing of his home. The Others had begun cutting down weirwood trees.  

After Meera left to hunt for food, Bran slipped inside the trees.   _Winterfell...let me see Winterfell._ Nothing. _The Wolfsood, then.  The White Knife.  Last Hearth._   Nothing. Bran felt the roots of his tree seat creeping around his legs. Suddenly, there was a prick in his shin and he saw the North...save for Winterfell.  

Thousands of dead men had infested the land and were slowly making their way toward the Neck. Giant spiders followed the frozen White Knife, plainly preparing to attack White Harbor.   _Jon.  Show me Jon._ The trees showed him nothing. After hours and hours of searching, Bran finally woke up.  

...  

"I have work to do. I've had a breakthrough. I've seen the North! Not Winterfell, but everything else," he told Meera before she left to go hunting the next day.  

Once Meera and Hodor had left the cave, he continued his search. _Stark...find me another Stark!_  Much to his surprise, the trees took him to the island of Skaagos where he saw direwolf and a little boy.   _Rickon!  Shaggydog!_

“Rickon,” he shouted, letting the wind carry his voice the way Brynden had taught him. His brother’s eyes darted from the trees to Shaggydog and back.  

“It’s me, Bran. Can you you hear me?”  Rickon’s eyes grew even wider, but he nodded.  

“I’m beyond the Wall.  Listen to me, no matter what happens, you have to stay on Skagos! The Others have –”  

"Hodor, Hodor, Hodor, Hodor," the giant stableboy shouted, shaking Bran until he opened his eyes.  

"Yes, what is it?"   _At least Rickon will be safe; I will speak with him again another day._  

“Hodor, Hodor,” answered the stableboy, pointing to Bran's legs.  Slowly, Brandon Stark looked down and saw that his toes had grown longer...whiter...and wooden. They were hooked and dug deep into the ground like roots.  

"It's okay. There’s nothing to be afraid of, I promise," Bran replied, hoping it was true.  

...  

The next day, Bran was alone when he awoke. He called and called, but nobody answered. Bran steeled himself and continued his search.  

_Jon?  Where are you?  Show me Jon Stark!_  Nothing.   _Arya...where is Arya?  Please...show me Arya!_   Nothing.   _Even if they’re dead, I should still be able to see them._  If either of them were still alive, they were no longer Starks...no longer Jon or Arya.  Bran found that he could see Winterfell through several of the remaining weirwood trees in the Godswood. He continued to study the Sidhe invasion, looking through time as the Wall and then castle after castle fell to the Army of Winter.  

Eventually, he saw a girl who looked strikingly like Arya, but...different. Her skin was as white as the moon and her eyes were bluer than anything that Bran had ever seen.  Whatever had happened to her, she plainly wasn’t a Wight.  She kept repeating strange names to herself as she walked past what was left of the Godswood and her eyes were far bluer than even those of the dead men.   _She is an Other._   _How...why would...  No!  They can’t have her!_

“Arya,” said Bran, letting the wind carry his voice once more.  

“Who said that,” the creature snapped, unsheathing a small sword and looking around in confusion.  

_Arya can hear me and she recognized her name.  She’ll never be one of them_ , Bran decided, resolving to reach whatever remained of his youngest sister and guide her out of Winterfell.  

“It’s me, Bran, your brother.  Do you remember me, Arya?  I’m beyond the Wall.  Rickon is alive too, he –”  

“My name’s not Arya.  Arya of House Stark is dead.  The Night’s King murdered her.  And she only had three brothers, stupid.  Jon, Robb, and Rickon Stark are all dead too.  That makes you a liar, whoever you are.”  

_She didn’t remember her name; she only heard my voice_ , Bran realized. _Arya –_ or whatever the Others turned her into _– doesn’t even remember me. She remembered Jon, Robb, and Rickon. She is still in there...somewhere. She has to be! I can’t tell her about Rickon though. Not now...not until I’ve brought more of her back._

“Arya. Your name is Arya. You’re Arya Stark of Winterfell. You have to remember who you are.”  

“Stop calling me that!  Please, my name is...” her voice trailed off and she began to chew her lip. “My name... No! I...I am Beltaine. I hate these stupid weirwood trees. Arya Stark always liked them though. During the summer, I used to...she used to play in them and... Whoever you are, you’d better leave me alone and leave Winterfell forever or...or I’ll...” Arya – or whatever she was calling herself – bit her lip and looked as though she were about to cry. “Leave me alone,” she shouted, running away from the Godswood.  

  “Wait, Arya...”  

“That’s not my name,” replied a sad voice that sounded far more frightened than it did angry.   _Just a little longer. That’s all it would have taken.  She was starting to come back. I saw it in her eyes. They didn’t seem quite so blue as before._   Bran cursed himself for not knowing the right words to keep her from running away. He warged into a nearby raven and watched the thing that had once been his sister – _no, she is still Arya_ – for hours that day.  He saw her spit venom at her captor-husband, the man who had once masqueraded as Reek at Winterfell.  

When the Night’s King called himself the King in the North, a scorching anger flooded through Bran’s veins. He tried to reach out to kill the man and felt something strange happening.  Before Bran could tell what it was, Hodor shook him awake.  

This time, Bran looked down and saw that his feet were entirely wooden and had started to join together. The root that had pierced his shin days ago was poking out of his left knee. He shuddered and began to sob.  

"Do not fear, Brandon Stark," said a calm voice. "You were meant to be Lord Brynden's heir and take his place. This is the price of his power.  Since his passing, we have left you alone to explore your strength, but we were always watching."   _When I'm in the tree, can the Children of the Forrest see what the trees show me?_  

"We only know you have tried very hard,” said Leaf as if in reply.  “What did you see before Hodor woke you?"  

"I saw my brother, Rickon. I saw the North, engulfed in an invasion of dark forces. I saw..." Bran decided not to tell them about Arya.  He did not know how the Children of the Forrest would feel about his attempt to bring back someone who had been turned into an Other.  And some things were better left unsaid besides.  

"You are ready, I think, to find someone."  

“Who?”  

"You will see for yourself, Brandon of House Stark. Go to the Wolfswood. Go now, before it is too late."  Bran closed his eyes.  

Brandon Stark's heart leapt with joy as soon as he saw his nuncle through the eyes of an old, gnarled weirwood. "Nuncle Benjen," he shouted, a gust of wind carried his voice to his nuncle's ears.  

"Who...what...who are you," Benjen asked, his eyes widening as he looked up at the weirwood. His voice was hoarse and he was much thinner than he had been when Bran saw him at Winterfell years ago.  

"It's me...Bran. Your nephew. I'm north of the Wall...or what used to be the Wall, with the Children of the Forest."  To his credit, Benjen Stark did not ask the obvious questions.  Instead, he simply nodded. Mayhaps he too sensed that it would not be long before the Long Night began.  

"What happened to you, Nuncle?"  

"Lord Commander Mormont sent me on a ranging to find out what happened to Ser Waymar Royce. Ser Waymar was a vain knight who joined the Night's Watch within two months of coming of age. The third son of one of the oldest houses in the Vale. Lord Royce already had two sons and there wasn’t likely to be much glory for his third, but as a knight and a highborn with a maester's education, Ser Waymar could’ve risen high in the Night's Watch...even if he was a bloody halfwit.  

Ser Waymar was sent out with two seasoned men to track Wildling raiders who had been spotted climbing the Wall west of Castle Black. When they never returned, me and two other men tracked them into the forest, but when we reached an abandoned Wildling village, we were attacked."  

"It was one of the Others,” Benjen continued. “A big one, with a great ice sword. He slew both of my brothers, but I got away...somehow. I wasn't too far from a Wildling village when the sun came up, so for the last few years I hid myself among hundreds of thousands of wildlings who came down behind Mance Rayder, waiting for a chance to escape. When Stannis defeated the so-called King Beyond the Wall, I was with the men who had already fled to Hardhome. I saw thousands of dead men and women fell off cliffs, only to get up, kill everyone they met. The men they killed got up too. I made it to one of the boats and have travelled on foot from the Karstark lands to the Wolfswood. The Others don’t seem to like the weirwoods much."  

"I learned through the trees that the leader of the Others – the Night’s King – he calls himself the King in the North."  

"The North knows no King but the true King in the North, and his name is Brandon Stark,” Benjen replied.  

"The Nights Watch is ended.  I relieve you of your vows, Nuncle."  Benjen Stark knelt before the weirwood tree.  "I need a champion, Ser Benjen," said the King in the North. "I believe I have an idea."


	55. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I experimented with a somewhat different writing style with this POV, I'm gonna go back to the normal format when I do the next one, but I just thought I'd try out something different. As always, I live for good feedback and constructive criticism (really feedback in general :P ), so let me know what you guys think!

“But everything is so wonderful in Winterfell! You’ll love it there. Why can’t you come with me,” Sansa asked as she packed for her journey to Winterfell.  

“My Lady, your mother often spoke of Winterfell and I know that you will be very happy there, but you and your sister are finally safe,” Brienne replied. “When I swore to serve Lady Catelyn, she made me a promise as well. She promised me that when the time came, she would not stop me from avenging King Renly. If Stannis is truly in Winterfell... I do not wish to shed blood in your home.”  

“At least stay for a few days. Jon won’t treat you the way nuncle Edmure did, I promise. He isn’t like that. And Arya would be so very delighted to meet you, I just know it. I’m sure you’d be all she’d be able to talk about for the rest of winter,” Sansa replied. _At least that part is true. Lady Brienne will hate Winterfell, most like. Southrons never like the North. But it would be so very dreadful to spend the whole journey with no one to talk to except for a bunch of smelly soldiers._ And Brienne was the only person left who could still make Sansa feel safe. _Everyone else who ever tried to protect me is dead. Father, Lord Tyrion, and Lord Petyr.  All of them...except the Hound, but he was scary and never wanted anything to be pleasant.  He’s probably dead too._

“I also swore to protect you...I suppose that means it is my duty to see that you safely arrive at Winterfell, but that is as far as I will go.”  

Suddenly, the door swung open and Edmure Tully entered the room. Sansa had come to love her nuncle dearly during her time in Riverrun although she oft found herself wishing he would stop making such nasty japes about Brienne. Even so, he had been so very kind to her and he wasn’t half so cruel to the maid of Tarth as some of the other men in Riverrun. And while she knew that she would never be able to completely forgive Lady Roselin for being a Frey, Edmure and his wife loved each other so dearly that simply seeing them together reminded Sansa of her parents...of how happy they were before King Robert the Fat came to Winterfell. However, the thing that she had come to love most about Riverrun was helping Lady Roselin take care of her baby. Hoster was a sweet child who never cried at night and was finally learning to walk. Today though, Lord Edmure frightened Sansa more than anything she’d seen since she left King’s Landing. The moment she saw the look on her nuncle’s face, she knew that she would not be returning home.  

...  

No one knew what had happened at Winterfell, only that it was no longer safe. Soon, smallfolk from the North began fleeing to Riverlands and they all had different stories, each more dreadful than the last. One man said that King Stannis had killed Jon in single combat after he discovered that her half-brother planned to take him prisoner and turn him over to Daenarys Targaryen. Others claimed that Lord Bolton’s bastard had declared himself “King Beyond the Wall” and gathered an army of 100,000 Wildlings before burning down Winterfell. There was even an absurd story that the Others had conquered half the North and the Night’s King had taken Arya for a wife after turning her into an Other. _The Wall would never come down and even if it did, the Others aren’t real. I suppose if Arya ever were to become a Queen, it would be of the Wildlings or the Ironborn. It’s easier to imagine her as an Other than as Queen of...anything._

As the weeks went by, some of the details about the Battle of Winterfell were eventually confirmed. It was known King Stannis was killed during some sort of great battle in the snow and that Winterfell had been captured by an enemy from beyond The Wall. All of the northern smallfolk were now insisting that the Others had advanced as far south as Barrowton, but Sansa would not let herself believe such a thing. It was too horrid.   _The Others don’t exist, no more than giants, snarks, or grumpkins. But if mother and Lady Brienne could come back from the dead... No! They can’t be real!_ The only silver lining was that none of the stories involved Arya dying. The refugees had stopped talking of her sister entirely. Arya escaped from King’s Landing and then made it all the way back to Winterfell. _She probably escaped from Winterfell too. It was a Wildling attack,_ Sansa decided. _Jon saved Arya and cut his way out of Winterfell.  Mayhaps they’ll even arrive at Riverrun in a few days._ Suddenly, she remembered what Lord Petyr once told her: “Life is not a song, sweetling.” _I’m still just a stupid little girl with stupid dreams who never learns, she thought to herself bitterly._   Tears rolled down her cheeks as she realized that wherever Jon and Arya were – whether they were dead or alive – she would never see either of them again.  

...  

 During those horrible weeks, the only person that Sansa could stand to be around was baby Hoster. Everyone else was always looking at her with pity and telling her how sorry they were about what had happened.   _Don’t they know that they’re just making it worse. Why can’t they all just leave me alone?_

The Blackfish eventually left Riverrun, claiming that he had to oversee the defense of the Twins in case whatever attacked Winterfell decided to march south, but Sansa knew the real reason was the argument he’d had with Lord Edmure over her nuncle’s decision to allow all of the smallfolk fleeing the North into the Riverlands. The Blackfish believed the smallfolk were simply useless mouths to feed. Sansa’s grandnuncle was a hard man by nature, but he was also one of the only men in Riverrun who treated Brienne kindly.  

...  

“Lord Tarly and his men should arrive on the morrow,” Edmure told her one night. “Though we declared for Stannis after King Aegon died, Randyll Tarly knows that both he and House Tyrell will always have a loyal friend in House Tully. I promise that you’ll be safe here. If anyone attacks Riverrun, I’ll break them just like I broke Tywin Lannister at the Battle of the Fords.” But you didn’t break him, Sansa thought to herself bitterly, Lord Tywin won the war on your wedding night when Lady Roselin’s family murdered my mother and my brother Robb...and took you prisoner.  

“Must she accompany you everywhere,” Edmure asked, scowling at Lady Brienne. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door and one of his men entered the room.  

“It’d seem Lord Randyll and his army had other matters to attend to,” said the soldier. “He sent far fewer men than promised. Their commander, Ser Urswyck, asks that you grant him an audience at once.”  

“I suppose they will have to do,” Edmure replied, frowning. “Very well, let us go and greet our guests. I fear I will have to wake Roselin. Her presence will be expected and so will yours, my Lady. I suppose that bloody bear of yours might as well come too since she’s still wearing that bloody armor of hers.”  

It was the coldest night Sansa could remember since she had left the North. She struggled to keep herself from shivering. Even her uncle looked miserable and plainly regretted his decision to wear a red and blue doublet rather than armor. Riverrun had never experienced this sort of weather before and unlike Winterfell, its great hall was not designed to keep men warm during the winter. The cold reminded Sansa of the stories about the Others...about Winterfell...about what they had done to... _No! That’s impossible, the Others aren’t even real. They’re just a story to scare children._ Ser Urswyck was accompanied by only 30 of his 250 men in the great hall, although the rest were in or near the castle. Ser Urswyck frightened Sansa a great deal. He was nearly bald with red-rimmed eyes and he wore a ragged leather cloak over his chainmail.   _He is not a true knight_ , she decided.  

“Good Lord Randyll sent me here because he knows Ser Urswyck the Faithful to be the most loyal man in the realm. Every bit as loyal to him as to Vargo Hoat before I opened the gates to Harrenhal for him and the Kingslayer. That’s why they call me Ser Urswyck the Faithful. Good Lord Randyll knighted for that I was and I been in his service since. He says I have me uses, he does. Send me here to warn you. House Tyrell has learned of a plot against you, me Lord. Some traitors in this very room, there are.” _But why would...who...who here would ever want to hurt uncle Edmure._

“My...my life,” stammered Lord Edmure, “but who would...who are these traitors, Ser Urswyck. Tell me their names and if what you say is true then I promise House Tully will never forget what you have done.” _None of this makes any sense. Why didn't Lord Randyll just send nuncle Edmure a raven?_

“The names, Ser?” asked Edmure.  

“Simple enough, really.  Way Lord Randyll sees it, you’re a traitor for declaring for Stannis.  Willas Tyrell sends his regards, me Lord,” replied Ser Urswyck and before anyone could react, he unsheathed a dagger from his belt and threw it at Lord Edmure. The last thing that Sansa heard was the sound of Lady Roselin screaming as the false knight’s dagger went through Lord Edmure’s right eye, killing him instantly, as Tarly soldiers flooded into the great hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chekov's crazy Willas strikes!


	56. The Night's Queen

“The Mountain...Theon Greyjoy...Ser Meryn...Raff the Sweetling...Dunsen...Ser Ilyn...The Red Woman. Valar Morghulis,” Beltaine whispered as she began making her way to Winterfell’s great hall. _Someday a wolf will hunt them down and kill every last one of them. On that day, I will taste their blood, smell their fear, and savor their pain. But I can’t forget their names! If do, I’ll never remember to kill them._

It had been getting harder and harder to remember the names or even what they had done to earn a place in her prayer. _Repeating them doesn’t help anymore...not really.  I don’t need to remember all of the names,_ she decided. _Maybe if I just remove Ser Meryn from my prayer, I’ll be able to remember all the others. He doesn’t need to die just because he killed some dancing master who probably hated Arya and thought that Sansa was perfect just like everyone else. Who cares about stupid dancing lessons anyway? Mother probably forced me to take them because she wanted me to act boring and ladylike._

Arya of House Stark had never gotten along with her sister and even thought she hated her once, before she discovered true hatred. The hatred that Beltaine felt for those in her prayer.  Now though, she would’ve given anything to be re-united with Arya’s sister. _Even if the Night’s King murdered Arya, I could still try to re-learn how to be her. I’ll even do my best to act like a proper Lady if Arya’s pack would pretend they still wanted me. I could... No, that’s stupid!_ Sidhe women were expected to be fierce warriors; it was one of the few things she liked about them.  

_And Sansa is dead besides. The last member of Arya’s pack...gone..._  The Night’s King had told her that one of his raven wights had witnessed the Rape of Riverrun and that the Tyrells had put Sansa’s head on a spike on of the castle’s walls. Beltaine wanted to add the Tyrells to her prayer, but he wouldn’t tell her which ones were involved the attack.   _Someday, I’ll find out their names and then I will kill them all._

When the Night’s King tore down most of the Godswood, she couldn’t understand why the sight of dead weirwood trees pleased her so much. Maybe Arya Stark had always hated weirwood trees, but if that was it then what had she hated about them? _That can’t be it; Arya loved the Godswood.  Bran and I would sometimes pretend the sticks were swords and..._   _Bran?  He...the tree said..._   _Could the weirwood be telling the truth?_     _Bran...I remember now; he was Arya brother!  My brother!  If he's alive and he doesn't hate me...I could..._   _No!  I...I am a Sidhe.  I belong here with my brothers and sisters.  We hate weirwoods!_   _Why won’t that stupid tree leave me alone?  It keeps trying to talk to me when no one else is around.  I already tricked the Night's King into not cutting it down by telling him how much it scared me, what else does it want?  My name is not Arya Stark...it’s Beltaine_ , the Night's Queen thought to herself sadly as she realized that her heart had stopped beating once the Night’s King murdered Arya.  

_Did Arya ever pray to anything besides the one true God? There must have been other ones before him; Arya of House Stark would not have prayed to The Great Other. She was wrong though; there are no old Gods and there are no new Gods. There is only one God and his name is The Great Other._  

There were even a few horrible days when it was hard for her to remember that she’d once been Arya Stark of Winterfell. _Arya of House Stark is dead,_ she decided, _I am Beltaine. But “Arya Stark” will always be a special name...a wolf name. If any of the Sidhe ever mock it again, a wolf will hunt them down during the darkest hour of The Long Night and rip them to pieces._ Even the Night’s King had learned not to say that name. _He has no right to speak to me of wolf names. No one does. I am the last of the wolves._

_You were wrong father_ , Beltaine thought to herself sadly, _only the lone wolf survived_.  She could still remember the names of her dead pack. _Jon, Bran, Sansa, father, mother, Robb, and...and... No! I can’t forget him! R...Rick...Rickard._ The Night’s Queen knew that if she ever forget Rickard Stark’s name then she’d soon forget about him completely and wouldn’t even know who he was if she ever saw him again...which she wouldn’t. _The only way that the dead can rise is as Wights and even they’re not alive...not really._

_My family wouldn’t want me anymore even if they recognized me.  Jon and Bran might pretend, maybe...  They’d hate me or think I’m just some monster and not a wolf at all. They’d probably run away or maybe even try to kill me._ Beltaine slumped down onto the floor and felt cold, bitter tears roll down her cheeks...tears that turned into tiny specks of ice the moment they touched the ground. _The Night’s King could be nearby. He will not see me cry,_ Beltaine decided as she wiped her eyes and forced herself stand up. _Never!_  

The Night’s King couldn’t be in her prayer to the Great Other because he wouldn’t tell her whether his real name was Dulrihan or Ramsay Snow. Even so, surviving him had been much easier than she had expected. The Night’s King treated everything like a game and you were safe as long as you knew the rules. You had to know that no matter what he threatened to do, no matter how cruel the things he said were, he’d never actually try to hurt you unless he thought you were afraid of him, but if he noticed even a hint of fear then he would never stop torturing you. You had to know that he’d deny any request you made in the cruelest way possible unless you tricked him into thinking that you were going to let him watch you hurt someone. Even if it was just a Wight, the important thing was that he thought that you enjoyed hurting people as much as he did.  

It wasn’t easy, but on the rare occasions when she was able to trick him that way, Beltaine could make the Night's King do almost anything she wanted.   _He only let me keep Needle because I asked about it right after I said that I didn’t want him to kill Big Walder because it would put an end to his torture and Freys don’t deserve the mercy of quick deaths. They shouldn’t have killed my mother! If Walder Frey hadn’t killed her at the Red Wedding, I’d have given the boy mercy._

  _At least I will dream of wolves tonight!_   Every night, the Night’s Queen dreamt that she was a direwolf, roaming the Riverlands and leading a pack of her own. Last night, she and some of her little cousins had feasted upon a group of Tyrell soldiers who had ventured outside the gates of Riverrun. The wolf dreams were the one thing that she knew the Night’s King could never steal from her. They were the only time when she was truly free.  

“The Mountain...Theon Greyjoy...Ser Ilyn...Raff the Sweetling...the Red Woman,” Beltaine whispered as she approached Winterfell’s great hall. _No! There was another name. Was it Ryman? Aemon? Damon? Damon! Damon was one of the Mountain’s men,_ she remembered, breathing a sigh of relief. “The Mountain...Theon Greyjoy...Ser Ilyn...Raff the Sweetling...Damon...the Red Woman. Valar Morghulis.”  

...  

Beltaine stared at the door to Winterfell’s great hall, chewing her lip. She had to pass through the room in order to go outside and practice her needlework, but she could hear Sidhe voices coming from inside the room. _He’s in there. At least there are many others with him. Maybe he won’t even notice me._

As soon as Beltaine opened the door, she saw the Night’s King seated high up on his throne of skulls. Theon was cowering next to him and it was packed with more Sidhe than she would’ve believed could fit in a single room...even one as large as Winterfell’s great hall. _No one heard me come in, not even any of the other Sidhe; t_ _hey would’ve told him if they had._ Beltaine often overheard the Sidhe talking of how Dulrihan had killed the previous Night’s King, brought down The Wall, taken Winterfell, and conquered the North. But even if they hadn’t liked him, the Sidhe hated her and would’ve told him for that reason alone. They were always whispering that she was too weak to ever be a true Sidhe. _I’ve been trying to protect my brothers and sisters from the Night’s King. I’m not Arya; I’m a Sidhe! Why do they hate me?_

As Beltaine carefully made her way through the mob of Sidhe, she noticed that the Night’s King was trying to get two young children to fight to the death with heavy pieces of wood. He kept promising to spare the winner’s life, but all they did was cry for their mothers. _Does he actually think anyone would ever believe a word he says?  Stupid bastard._   She somehow managed to make it to the door on the other end of the room without anyone noticing. _Quiet as a shadow._ She opened the door and it made a loud creaking sound. The room grew silent and Night’s King slowly turned his head in her direction.  

“Well, well, well, what do we has...have...has? Yes, have...have it is! What do we have here? Is it? Yes, I do believe it is my sweet wife. Join us, won’t you?”  Dulrihan was plainly very drunk. That was good because it meant he’d be stupid. But he had still caught her trying to sneak past him and that was bad.  

“Why? So I can watch you drink until you wet yourself? No, I don’t think I will join you, although it smells like you’ve already soiled yourself a few times,” said Beltaine, hoping she sounded as bored as she thought she did. It was good to insult him. You always had to make sure that he thought you weren’t afraid of him. Otherwise, you’d end up like Big Walder or Theon.  

“It wasn’t a question,” he replied calmly although his face had begun to twitch. Beltaine realized that she had never talked back to the Night’s King when he was drunk and wondered whether Dulrihan still remembered that he couldn’t hurt her. _He’ll probably embarrass himself no matter what he does. Stupid bastard. He almost looks frightened. Probably afraid that I’ll make him look weak in front of the other Sidhe again._

“I will let slide...that one slide if,” he burped, “if you do as you’re bid and help me get these two shits to start fighting each other. Can’t remember father so they must needs be punished. But you be a good little wolf and come near...here...come here now! Then you will sit like a good and,” another burp, “a good and obedient dog.”  

For once, Beltaine really wasn’t afraid of him. This wasn’t the Night’s King...it was just...she didn’t know what it was. Whatever was wrong with him, none of the other Sidhe seemed to notice or if they did, were still too afraid of him to say anything.   _He can’t remember his father anymore,_ she realized.   _Is he drinking so much because he’s sad? No, this has to be another of his games._

“I’m not your stupid dog,” Beltaine snapped.  

“Roll over!”  

“I said I’m not a dog! And your father was a Bolton. But you’re just a bastard, don’t you remember?”  

“What...what did you say?”  

“I said you’re a stupid, drunken, crippled bastard and that’s all you’ll ever be!” The Night’s King’s face darkened with rage and for a moment he simply stared at her silently. That was when Beltaine knew she had made a mistake. He was drunk which meant the game had different rules.  

“Do you know what you do with a dog that won’t behave? You sim-simply cut the dumb bitch’s throat. Here...let me show you,” he said unsheathing his ice sword with his left hand as he stood up and began to stagger towards her. _He’ll find me if I run and where would I even go? The North is his and Winterfell is my home. I won’t leave again. Never!_

“Now are you going to...going to behave like a good little wolf...dog...a good wolf? No more fighting or biting or bitching? Well...mayhaps biting is still allowed.  I might enjoy that.”  

“Biting it is then,” the Night’s Queen replied, and bit down on her right shoulder as hard as she could on the exact spot where the stump of what had once been Night’s King’s sword arm ended. Beltaine forced herself to ignore the pain as she thought about everything that Dulrihan had stolen from her. The Night’s King yelped in pain and lost his balance, dropping his sword and falling down. Beltaine ran over to him and grabbed his sword before he could react. _Quick as a snake._ She pointed the blade at his throat. The Night’s King did not move an inch, but he was baring his teeth at her.  

“Do you know who I am? I am Beltaine. You might be the Night’s King, but I am the Night’s Queen and if you ever threaten me again, I’ll kill you. Do you understand, bastard? I can’t hear you,” she shouted.  

“I under...yes,” the Night’s King answered quietly.  

“Good, because if I ever have to point a weapon at you again...”  

 “Get...out...NOW! GO,” the Night’s King screamed.  

_I can’t practice my needlework tonight,_ Beltaine decided as she carefully backed away from the Night’s King. _If I do, then I’ll have to go through the great hall again once I’m done and he might still be in here._ As the Night’s Queen turned towards the door on the other end of the hall, she realized that all of the other Sidhe were silently staring at her. One by one, they all moved to the side so that she had a clear path to the door.  Some of them even looked at her with what might’ve been pride or approval.  Beltaine smiled to herself when she heard Dulrihan mutter that “those disloyal cunts never cleared a path for me.”  

_I am the winter and the lone wolf has found her pack. My true pack._ She dropped the Night’s King’s sword in front of the door and left the great hall. _They are wolves too, real wolves just like me...even the Night’s King. The Long Night will be a time for wolves and I am the night wolf._   _But I must needs remember who I was before or I’ll end up just like the stupid Night’s King. I will not forget about Arya of House Stark! Never! The Sidhe can’t be my pack...not really. They can never be wolves. But if I’m a Sidhe, doesn’t that mean..._ Beltaine bit her lip. _The Sidhe are my pack,_ she decided. _They are still my brothers and sisters. They just can’t be wolves is all.  There are no other wolves left...only me._

Beltaine barred the door to her bedchamber so that the Night’s King would not be able to enter...if he could even make it there before he passed out.   _Stupid bastard._ She whispered her evening prayer to The Great Other. “The Mountain...Theon Greyjoy. Valar Morghulis.” _No, that is wrong._ “The Mountain...Theon...Theon...Theon...Theon Greyjoy!” Beltaine realized that she couldn’t remember any of the other names in her prayer. _What did he do? What’s happening? I can’t forget them...I...I..._ Beltaine tried to say her prayer over and over again between sobs as she struggled to remember just one of the missing names, but none of them ever returned to her and before long, she couldn’t even remember the first two names. For the first time that she could remember, the Night’s Queen fell asleep without saying her prayer to The Great Other. There were no wolf dreams that night...only nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> George R. R. Martin never said Others can't get drunk :P


	57. The Princess in Exile

Everything that happened after her nuncle’s death was blur except for the screams that echoed through Riverrun. Sansa didn’t know how they’d escaped, but she soon found herself racing through some sort of dark tunnel with Lady Brienne...and Podrick Payne, of all people. They slowed down somewhat once it was plain that no one had followed them.  

“Where are we,” asked Sansa.  

  “This tunnel leads out of Riverrun and to a nearby riverbank, my Lady,” Brienne replied. “Before the Blackfish left, he had a number of small boats placed there. Your granduncle did not trust Lord Tarly, even after the man helped him escape from Riverrun.  Before he left for the Twins, he made me promise that if anything happened while he was gone, I would take you, your nuncle, and your nuncle’s family through this tunnel and see that you all made it to Harrenhal safely. He forbid me to tell anyone because he feared that the Tyrells might have spies in Riverrun.”  

“But why would he tell you instead of Lord Edmure?”  

“The Blackfish thought that Lord Edmure was more likely to find himself in need of rescuing than I was, my Lady. And your nuncle refused to hear a bad word about Lord Tarly besides.”  

“But Lady Roselin and baby Hoster...where are they?”  

“I don’t know, my Lady.  Lady Roselin had made it out with us, but she turned around and ran back towards Riverrun once she realized her baby was still in its crib. I cannot say what became of her afterwards.”  They followed the tunnel for what seemed like an eternity until they finally came out the other end and saw two small boats by the riverbank.  

“Aroooooooooooo,” howled a wolf somewhere in the distance.  As they approached the boats, a voice cut through the darkness like a knife through cheese.  

“I think that’s far enough,” said Ser Urswyick, as he emerged from the shadows with five of his men.  

“But...but how –”  

“How did I find you, me Lady Stark?  The whore of the Crossing told me where you lot was going before we killed her, she did.  All I had to do was promise to spare her son’s life.  Simple enough, really.  Kept me word, I did.  Of course, he still drowned after I threw him in the river, but he had every chance to swim to safety if he wished. Not me fault his mother never taught the lad to swim. Shame he decided to throw his life away like that after his mother betrayed you lot to save –”  

“Aroooooooooooooo!”  

 “Aroooooooooooooooooo!”  

“Bloody wolves,” Ser Urswyck muttered.  

“Podrick, see to it that Lady Sansa makes it to Harrenhal safely,” said Brienne, unsheathing her sword.  

“But Ser...I mean, my Lady –”  

“You have to go...NOW!”  

“Please, come with us,” Sansa begged.  

“No, these men must needs die, otherwise they'll send men to capture you and none of us will reach Harrenhal.”  

“Kill the boy and the beast,” shouted Ser Urswyck. “Leave me the Stark girl; I intend to have her maidenhead before killing her, I do.”  

By the time Podrick and Sansa reached the boats, three of the soldiers were already dead.   _Lady Brienne will kill them and escape. She’ll find us somehow_ , Sansa decided as Podrick began to row the boat away from the riverbank.  Suddenly, she saw Ser Urswyck thrust his sword through Brienne’s neck from behind while his remaining men distracted her. _Lord Petyr was right; life is not a song._  

“Arooooooooo!”  

“Arooooooooooooo!”  

“Aroooooooooooooooo!”  

“Arooooooooooooooooooooo!”  

...  

By the time they reached Lord Harroway’s Town, the Riverlands had descended into chaos. Most of the smallfolk had abandoned their homes and there were always large fires burning off in the distence. Yet nothing frightened Sansa half so much as the day it began snowing. _Winter has come._

In Lord Harroway’s Town, all the Northern smallfolk now insisted that the Others had attacked Winterfell and captured the Twins.  Some men even claimed that the Army of Winter had taken Riverrun.   _They have to be wrong!_  

In the end, it was only because of Podrick that she had found the strength to make it to Harrenhal. He seldom spoke anymore and oft looked like a broken man.   _He’s only pushing forward because Lady Brienne made him promise to protect me. If I die, Podrick will have nothing left to live for_ , she realized.   _I have to keep going. I will...I must...for his sake._  

...  

When they finally arrived Harrenhal, they found that the Blackfish was letting the smallfolk take shelter behind the fortress’ walls. Her grandnuncle looked as though he’d aged 100 years since leaving Riverrun. He wept when Podrick told him about Lord Edmure’s death and Sansa realized that for all of his scolding, the Blackfish loved his nephew very dearly.  

“I didn’t want to believe it,” the Blackfish muttered to himself. “I kept telling myself it wasn’t true, I...  The Tyrells will pay for this!  House Redwyne has already launched a rebellion against the Red Rose and I have been in communication with certain men in Highgarden who have come to hate Willas Tyrell near as much as I do. It would seem the guest right still means something in the Reach, despite what the Tyrells and that Tarly shit may think. At least the bastard is dead.”  

“What bastard?  Who is dead,” Sansa asked.  

“The monster who killed my nephew. None of the survivors can can agree on how he died, but every one of them as claimed the butcher died some sort of horrible death on the night of the massacre. One of them said there was a mutiny and his own men flayed him to death. Too good a death for the likes him, I say. Another man swore he saw the little shit being eaten alive by a giant wolf while the rest of its pack feasted upon a few of his men.” Sansa remembered the the wolves she’d heard howling near Riverrun and shuddered.  

“I know what happened at Winterfell. Seven help me, I know. The smallfolk told it true. The...the Others have taken the North.”  Her grandnuncle seemed to grow older with every word.  

“But...but that can’t be true. They...the Others...they’re not real.”  

 “They are as real as we are, sweetling. I saw them when they captured the Twins. I’ve seen them raise up dead men. I’ve let as many of the smallfolk as I can feed into Harrenhal so that we can burn their bodies when they die.”  

“But...if they attacked Winterfell...then...then...Jon is...”  

“Dead. Meat in their army, most like. Always hated that bastard. He was a living, breathing reminder of how your father shamed Cat, but I never would’ve wished this on him. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”  

“But if the stories...I mean...if the Others are real, then the stories... Arya is...s-s-she can’t be...”  

“The smallfolk...most of them haven’t said anything about Arya.  Most of tales we’ve heard about her came from a handful of Baratheon soldiers who escaped after the Night’s King slew their King. These men...they...they all say that the Night’s King turned your sister into an Other. And then there are a few smallfolk from the North who claim the Night’s King made her his Queen.”  

“Arya...s-she is an Other? No! That...that can’t be... How would they even...why would...”  

“Arya’s gone. She’s not your sister anymore; she’s...one of them now. Mayhaps even their Queen, for all I know. I’d believe anything after what I saw at the Twins.”  

“B-b-but Arya...she...she would n-never...”  

“I don’t imagine they gave her much of a choice.  You are the only Stark left, sweetling. I...I’m sorry.”  

“S-She is one of...and the N-N-Night’s King made her...and she...Arya is his...his...his...”  Sansa fainted.


	58. The Queen of Thorns

Olenna Tyrell knew that this would be her last winter. Old age had not yet taken its toll on her mind and she could still remember every moment: afternoons with her ladies, doting on baby Margaery, and chiding her fool of a son. The Queen of Thorns found that she couldn’t help thinking of a time long ago...the year of the false spring.  

The entire Tyrell household had traveled Lord Whent's great tourney at Harrenhall. At the time, it had seemed as though the Targaryen dynasty might last a thousand years. After the tourney, winter came back in force and the false spring was strangled by the biting winds as the hopes and dreams of men all across Westeros withered and died. She had watched as her son did nothing to save the dragons. The Oaf had been content to spend Robert’s Rebellion sitting at a banquet table. His folly cost the Reach power and honor, but in the end the roses still bloomed at Highgarden.  

Lord Willas had been even worse than his father, waffling between Areys III and the false dragon for more than a year. Mace had made his share of mistakes: crowning Renly Baratheon before supporting Joffrey and marrying his only daughter to an inbred monster. The Oaf had burned for that mistake along with two of her grandchildren. Gareth Tyrell was alive, but he had grown so ill that the maester predicted he’d be dead within a week.  

And there were few Lords whom they could still truly rely upon. Lord Redwyne had perished along with the rest of King’s Landing and his children – _my own blood_ – were leading an open rebellion. Another Targaryen – _one with a drago_ n – had incinerated Lord Tarly and his entire army on their way north. _The North... The Seven alone know what happened up there. Mayhaps Danaerys Targaryen is gone; we should be so lucky. No one has seen her or her dragon since they burnt Lord Randyll to a crisp._ Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her grandchildren arguing.  

"But why on earth would you order such a thing,” asked Garlan.  

"The Tullys were a vicious pack of traitors,” Willas replied. “And a weak house besides. They were practically begging to be knocked off the board. They’re lucky I didn’t have Lord Tarly order his men to skin them. I'll hear no more of the subject. Another word on the matter and I fear I’ll have cause to doubt your loyalty. How go the defensive preparations?”  

"We...we have the strongest garrison in the Seven Kingdoms. Highgarden is guarded by more than four thousand men.” "The Targaryens can march eleven thousand men on us from the Westerlands.”  

“We should work to negotiate a peace with the Targaryen girl before we meet the same fate as father.”  

"Mace’s death was tragic, yes, but very brave. He died defending our lands, and his grandson's birthright."  

"He won't have a birthright after what you did! You broke guest right and committed a wholesale slaughter at Riverrun. Forgive me, brother, but you have brought the Redwyne rebellion upon us."  

"My lady grandmother, you must forgive our discussion,” said Willas having finally chosen to acknowledge her presence. My brother seems to think your family poses a true threat from their island lands. He doesn’t realize how simple it is smoke those rats out of their hole in the Arbor. Garlan is lost in his cups again, most like. Where is Lord Rowan? That son of a whore was supposed to meet us here half an hour ago. How dare he keep me waiting! I’ll have the little shit’s left eye out for this." Olenna bowed to Garlan and when she looked up, her heart dropped into her stomach.

They were just on the edge of the dead forest, near high and thick hedges that had not yet yielded to the winter.  The thunder of footsteps pounded in her ears and she saw men in black charging toward the hunting party. Hundreds of arrows shot out from outside of the garden in all directions. Her entourage and the knights all raced to meet the offenders, but it was no use. Man after man fell, whether to swords or arrows. She saw Garlan – proud and strong – fall to the ground...dead. An arrow went right through Willas’ left eye. A man on horseback raced over to Olenna and lifted his sword in the air. The Queen of Thorns opened her mouth to scream, but only a gurgling noise emerged as blood poured out of the wound in her throat.


	59. Benjen

The sky was slate gray and the wind had a murderous bite to its chill as Benjen Stark stood before the weirwood trees and focused all of his might on the dry kindling at the base of the tree. Suddenly, a flame unlike any he’d seen before burst from his sword’s pommel and surrounded the blade. _Fire is the oldest magic._

"Good, you’re getting much better, nuncle. The Children of the Forest believe that the Night’s King’s death will cause rest of the Others to wither and die,” said Bran. Benjen looked into the eyes of the weirwood tree, filled with blood red sap. For weeks, he had lived in the Wolfswood, training daily for the battle to come. His nephew had taught him much and more since they first spoke: ancient secrets known only to the Children of the Forest. His reflexes had never been half so fast and of course, there was the flaming sword. Bran had taught him how to surround the blade with dragon-fire.  

"Yes, but why don't they know for sure? Didn't they help the First Men during the Long Night?"  

"Until recently, the Others were thought to be little more than a story to frighten children, even in the North. If the men of Westeros forgot, how can you expect generations of Children to remember?"  

“As you say,” Benjen replied.  

"You’ll have to use the passages leading to Winterfell’s crypt to get inside of the castle. Once you've reached the Godswood, we will speak again."  

"Seven Hells, how am I supposed to get past the Army if Winter.”  

"I can guide you...in a way.” _This may be madness, but I suppose don’t have any better ideas. And if he’s wrong...its not as though I’d have much longer to live anyway._

...  

The next day, Benjen prepared to return to the castle he'd once called home. The memory of his childhood at Winterfell – a time when everything had been whole – calmed his nerves. He had learned how to sense when his nephew was warging nearby animals. A scruffy rabbit had guided him through the Wolfswood. Eventually, his nephew switched to a crow that flew from branch to branch, until it led him to the passage. He followed the tunnel, knowing that it was a suicide mission, most like and quietly emerged from Winterfell’s crypt.  

The castle looked more like a ruin now and Benjen noticed that the wolf statues were smoked and charred from a fire that the castle had weathered. Eventually, he reached the Godswood of Winterfell...or what little remained of it. Fortunately, the place appeared to have been abandoned, almost as if the Others were afraid of it.  

_This is the realm of the Old Gods and the land of the Starks._ He stepped lightly and made his way to the great weirwood tree that had once been the center of the Godswood. Blood-red sap seeped from its eyes.  

“You made it! Now, you need to get to the Night’s King. He’s in the great hall right now; I saw through a rat. He’s heavily guarded though,” said Bran.  

“How many?”  

“At least a hundred. I’m not sure if I can create a diversion to get –”  Bran’s words were cut off by a piercing screech from the sky and through the leaves of the godswood Benjen saw a dragon flying over his head. Without thinking he drew his sword and raced towards the great hall.  

“Good luck,” he heard his nephew whisper in the wind. The black dragon kept diving and circling the inner castle, raining fire down upon the Others. Its flames were so long and hot that Benjen felt them even from his safe vantage point. Merifcully, the Others were so pre-occupied with the beast that they didn’t even seem to notice him as he ran up the stairs that led to the walkway over the yard. When he reached the top he was ready to sprint, but nearly ran right into two Others, each with their swords drawn.  

Before they could even react, Benjen drove his flaming sword through the chest of the first one. The other warrior lunged for his legs, but Benjen swung his sword downward and it caught the Sidhe’s blade. He landed a swift blow and the second Other’s body burst into flames the moment his sword touched its shoulder.  

Benjen proceeded across the walkway as the monstrous black dragon flew overhead. He could have sworn he heard the shouts of the woman riding the beast. He ran as fast as his legs would take him and burst through the doors into the great hall.  

_This is not the home of the Starks..._ The walls and ceiling were frozen in strong coats of ice and the dragon-flame surrounding the blade of his sword disappeared the moment he entered the room.  

“Who the fuck are you,” growled a voice from the other end of the room.  The smoke from the extinguished flame disappeared and Benjen Stark found himself face to face with the Night’s King, a female Other with a sword as thin as a needle, and a man so covered in filth that he absolutely reeked.


	60. The Red Woman

The ruby around her neck grew cold as they emerged from Winterfell’s crypt. It was a bad omen, to be sure, but the time for uncertainty – if there had ever been such a thing – had come and gone many years ago. Melisandre had seen fresh footprints in the crypt as though someone else had recently taken the same path into Winterfell, but she would not let such curiosities distract her. _Doubt is but a tool of The Enemy...little more than a whisper in the darkness. It is during the darkest hours of the night that our faith must burn the brightest. It is the Lord of Light’s will and his alone that will lead us out of the darkness and along the path to dawn. He has brought me this far...even if I was once too blind to see the truth in the visions he granted me._

_Stannis Baratheon was not Azor Ahai reborn_ , even now, the realization – the knowledge that she could have ever been so wrong – hurt just as much as it had when it became plain to her that Winterfell would fall. _The Stark boy had the right of it. The Lord of Light wanted Stannis to kill Lord Bolton’s bastard before he brought down the Wall. The father was of little consequence. I was too proud to see what the Lord of Light kept trying to show me in the flames...too proud to admit that I had been mistaken. I saw snow falling around Winterfell...Jon Snow was the true champion of the Lord of Light._ She glanced at him and frowned.  

Lord Stark had been dead for an hour by the time his body had been spirited out of Winterfell through the crypt and it had taken her even longer to figure out how to ask the Lord of Light to return his soul to its body and give it new life as Thoros of Myr had once done for Beric Dondarrion. At the time, it she had resented the fact that the Lord of Light had granted some drunken fool a power that he had not given her, but now she realized that the one true God had wanted her to work to develop and master the ability. Fortunately, the Lord of Light still answered her prayers and the former Lord of Winterfell was reborn as Azor Ahai although the direwolf died the moment that his soul left its body. _I was wrong once, but never again!_

Even so, death had taken it’s toll on the champion of the Lord of Light. His skin had grown pale and he was not half so strong she had remembered. He’d lost something when he died at Winterfell. Jon Stark still knew his name and who he was, but he was plainly no longer the man that had slain Lord Bolton. He was quieter and moved far more slowly than he had before his death. _Doubt is merely a whisper in the darkness, nothing more. I need only have faith in the Lord of Light and he will show me the way._  

As much as it surprised her that they did not encounter any of The Enemy’s cold children as they made their way to the inner castle, the reason proved to be even more unexpected. The Others were scrambling, desperately trying to kill a large black dragon that kept diving down from the sky and burning scores of them. Yet after everything that Melisandre had seen over the years – things most men never would have dared to imagine – she had little difficulty accepting the fact that there was still at least one dragon left in Westeros.   _Even the Enemy’s cold children cannot withstand dragon-fire._  

“This is as far as I go,” she said, turning to the man that the Lord of Light had chosen as his champion. “Once the Night’s King is dead, the rest of them will whither and die. May the Lord of Light show you way and guide –”  

“I already know the way,” Jon muttered. “Winterfell may be little more than a battlefield to you, but it is my home.”  

“You know nothing, Jon Stark.”  He scowled, before turning around and continuing towards the great hall. In truth, Melisandre could have gone with him, but the black dragon fascinated her. The creature took great pains to keep its the great hall, almost as though some higher power – mayhaps even The Enemy himself – kept blocking its path. _The Night’s King is in the great hall_ , she realized. _I was right! I did not let the Night’s King’s victory at Winterfell shake my faith and now the Lord of Light has rewarded me. He has sent a dragon to help fight The Enemy’s cold children._

She could feel the heat from its fiery breath as though it were right in front of her.   _Mayhaps it will burn down the so-called Godswood_ , she thought to herself, smiling. She had to get closer. The Enemy’s cold children paid her no mind as she slowly made her way towards the courtyard.  

Suddenly, a flood of arrows shot up into the sky from the other end of the yard. Most of the arrows bounced off the dragon’s skin, but Melisandre noticed something or someone fall off of its back. The creature seemed to grower wilder after that. It still kept its distance from the great hall and the Godswood, but it began burning everything else indiscriminately. It raced towards the yard, reducing everything in its path to a pile of ashes.  

“Fire is the purest death,” Melisandre whispered to herself, trembling. The dragon opened its mouth and the Lord of Light granted her one last vision as she looked into the blinding flames that were racing towards her.   _I have failed._


	61. Theon

He had never liked Benjen Stark. Even if Robb was the only Stark who had ever treated him like a friend instead of an unwelcome outsider during his years as Ned Stark’s ward – a whipped-dog, so far as his father was concerned – Benjen had been one the few who had truly treated him with open contempt. Even Catelyn – who never missed a chance to remind her kin that Theon was an Iron Islander and thus, not to be trusted – had the decency to acknowledge his presence. _Not that they needed her to remind them of what I am...what I was_ , Theon thought to himself bitterly. _I could never be one of them. I’m not even a man, much less a Stark. I’m a Reek; that’s all I can ever be after what I’ve done. I betrayed them and everything that has happened since, all of it, it’s all my fault. I deserve to be Reek._

And yet for all that he hated Benjen Stark, Theon found that he could not help feeling sorry for him. _If Stannis Baratheon failed, surely a half-dead Stark won’t leave so much as a scratch upon the Night’s King._

“Here we stand then, monster.”  

“You’d best mind your tongue as you address me, scum,” snapped the Night’s King.  

“Or what? Forgive me if I don’t tremble in fear at the sight of a cripple,” Benjen replied.  

“You will speak to me with respect! Do you hear me you son of a –”  

“Wherever that dragon came from, soon it will have turned your entire army into a puddle of water. Not that I needed the help. I cut down plenty of ‘em on my way here. They didn’t give me any trouble.”  

“He attacked our pack! He hurt them, he... Kill him! Or do whatever you want to him only...make him suffer the way our brothers and sisters did,” said the Night’s Queen, her voice growing colder with every word.  

“Well, you heard the lady,” said Dulrihan, smirking.  

“I’m not a lady,” Beltaine muttered.  

“Now, now, I’m sure our...guest didn’t come all this way just to hear us argue about whether or not you’re a lady. We must remember our manners, wouldn’t you agree?”  The Night’s Queen rolled her eyes.  

“Whoever the fuck you are, I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” the Night’s King continued. “What exactly was your plan? You don’t really think that you can simply wander in here and kill me, do you?”  

“I am Benjen Stark. Winterfell belongs to my nephew; it will always belong to House Stark. And yes, that is exactly what I am going to do, monster."  The Night’s King glanced at Ar...the Queen – _not Arya...never Arya, m-m-master will have to hurt his Reek if I call her Arya again_ – for a moment. Beltaine simply shook her head and unsheathed her sword.  

“I’m sorry, but it would seem that your lineage is in dispute,” said Dulrihan with a chuckle as he stepped down from his throne of bones. When the Night’s King used his only remaining arm to draw his sword, Benjen pointed at the frozen stump and began to laugh. _No! You must not laugh at him! Never!_

“Is this the power of the Night’s King? My sword is more than enough to kill a cripple and his whore.”  

“SILENCE,” roared Dulrihan, as he charged at Benjen.  

“You’re slow, bastard.”  

“I am NOT a bastard!”  

“Only a bastard would dare sit upon that throne without permission.”  Benjen was plainly a far better fighter and forced the Night’s King farther and farther back with each blow. Suddenly, he landed a swift cut across Dulrihan’s chest, sending the Night’s King crashing to the ground. Benjen stepped forward and put his foot atop the wound.  

_Benjen...he won…he..._  The spark of hope Theon felt was extinguished the moment he saw that the Night’s Queen had managed to approach Benjen undetected and was pointing her sword at his back.  She then said something that neither Reek nor Theon ever expected to hear her say about the Night’s King.  

  “No, don’t kill him. If you leave the North forever and don’t hurt anyone else, I won’t – ”  

“Kill him! Kill him now! What are you waiting for? Open his throat! I order you to kill him,” shouted the Night’s King.  Beltaine rolled her eyes in disgust.  

“You can open my throat with that sword of yours, aye. You could drive it through my heart or kill me however else you like. Still leaves me plenty of time end this monster,” Benjen replied.  

“You say you’re Benjen Stark? Tell me, did you know that this one used to be AryAAARRRRRGGGH....YOU C-CUNT,” screamed Dulrihan as Beltaine gave him a hard, swift kick in the groin.  

“Shut up,” she snapped.  Benjen smirked as the Night’s King whimpered and cursed.   _She can’t hurt him.  No one can hurt master. She...she can’t... Master will have to hurt his Reek now.  Master will...he...will... No, my name is Theon, not Reek. Reek, not Theon. Never Theon! Please, go away. I don’t want to be Theon; I deserve to be Reek. Theon...Reek...Theon...Reek..._

“You’ll spare my life if I’ll spare his?”    

“Please, I know what he is, but he’s still one of us. And he’s not yours to kill besides.”  

“Seems to me I don’t have much choice, but to take you up on your offer. Very well.”  

“Good, I –” Benjen rammed into Beltaine, knocking her to the ground the moment she lowered her sword.  

“I don’t know which of you is the bigger fool,” said Benjen as he moved a safe distance from his two defeated foes, both lying on the ground. “The cripple who tries to win a sword fight or the one who thinks I would let either of you monsters live another day just to save my own skin. The two of you are so inept that I could just walk in and sit down on this throne.”   _Not the throne! You’ve won, stay away from the throne!_

Theon tried to warn Benjen, but Reek wouldn’t let him. The moment Benjen approached the throne of bones, it came to life and a swarm of skeleton wights attacked him, ripping open his throat as a pool of blood spread around his lifeless body. Dulrihan stood up first and Beltaine not long after that, the former plainly weakened by Benjen’s blows.  

“UNCLE BENJEN!”   _I know that voice. But...he’s dead...how..._  

Jon’s scream echoed across the frozen room as the Night’s King and Weights looked at him. Beltaine started to shake and began chewing her lips as a worried expression appeared on her face. It was Jon or something resembling Jon. Whatever it was, it looked half-dead.  

“Well, well, well, what do we have here,” asked Dulrihan.  

“B-B-But you s-said...it can’t...how...I don’t...but...I...I...” stammered the Night’s Queen. Her whole body began to twitch and tremble as though she were in state of shock.  

 “Shhhhh, no need for all that,” whispered the Night’s King, in a voice as soft as the snow. “It’s just some sort of trick. He’s some bastard from White Harbor, most like. Who do you even think this is?”  

“I don’t know,” Beltaine replied.  “I...I don’t remember his name. I don’t remember...”  

“That’s because there is nothing to remember. Nothing at all...”  

“I never knew him...not really. He’s no one.”  

Theon wanted to warn her not to listen to the Night’s King. He wanted to tell her who Jon Snow was and remind her that Arya Stark loved her half-brother more than anyone else in the world. He wanted to tell her that the Night’s King lied about killing Jon. But whenever Theon opened his mouth, he found that Reek would not let him make a sound. _I am Theon, not Reek. Theon! Theon! Theon! Theon! Theon Greyjoy!_

“You...You killed them all! You killed Val! You killed Arya,” shouted Jon as he charged at the Weights. One by one, he cut down the dead men with Longclaw. Fire was supposed to be the only way to kill a Weight, but whatever strange steel his sword had been forged from was plainly sufficient. Jon kept on fighting, even as the remaining dead men inflicting serious wounds upon him and pieces of something black fell from his coat. Soon, they were all dead...except for the Night’s King, who simply waited for a chance to strike.  

“BASTARD,” Dulrihan shouted, as he began stabbing Jon in the back repeatedly with his hunting knife.  Jon screamed pain and fell to the ground, his strength abandoning him. _He can’t fight anymore, he can’t… No one can kill the Night’s King...at least, when facing him head-on. You can only win by surprising him. This could me my last chance. If I caught him off guard… No…I can’t...I... I am just a Reek. I deserve to be Reek. “It’s over,” growled the Night’s King. He is going to… No! I can’t change the past, but..._

“Once I have turned you into one of my servant, I will put an end to this. I will crush everyone in Winterfell under a mountain of ice and snow if that is what it takes bring down the dragon bitch and then I will send whatever remains of the Army of Winter south. And whoever the fuck you are, I swear to you that men will keep dying until there is not so much as a single beating heart left in all of Westeros.”  

Theon picked up the black dragonglass dagger that had fallen to the ground during Jon’s fight with the Weights. _I have to...for Robb! But a Reek should be loyal to its master and... No! Not Reek! Never again!  You have to know your name!_

“THEON!  MY NAME IS THEON GREYJOY,” he screamed as the Night’s King raised his sword to deliver the final blow. The bitter pain of his years as the monster’s slave gave Theon a strength he never knew he had as Dulrihan began to turn around. He buried the blade in the monster’s neck and the Night’s King fell to the ground without so much as a whimper.


	62. The Night's Queen

The Night’s King did not shatter like the Sidhe she’d seen him stab with dragonglass. He simply fell to the ground...dead. Beltaine knew that she should be happy, but his death brought her no joy. _He had no right to kill him and neither did stupid Benjen Stark. The bastard was mine to kill! Theon stole him from me_ , she thought to herself bitterly. And yet...as Beltaine stared at the Night’s King’s dead body, sprawled across the floor, her anger gave way to a strange sort of grief. _No matter how much I hated him, he was still part of my pack._ Beltaine bit her lip as she wondered whether Arya Stark had a pack of her own once.   _If I could find them somehow, maybe they’d think I was still Arya. Maybe they’d still want me even if I wasn’t...maybe... No, that's stupid.  And it wouldn’t matter anyway besides. I am Beltaine of Winterfell and I belong with the Sidhe...with my brothers and sisters. I finally found my pack. I cannot lose them! Not again! Never!_ Beltaine continued to stare at the corpse of the creature who had caused her so much pain and felt a pang of guilt for having wished him dead so often. _I hated him, but I never actually would’ve killed him,_ she decided. _I never wanted to see him die...not really. I just...wanted to hurt him a little is all. He was a monster, but he was part of the only family I’ll ever have...the only one that would ever want me. And even they may not want me anymore now that he’s dead._

Her thoughts were interrupted by Theon’s deranged cries of joy. For a moment Beltaine simply stared at the pathetic, half-mad creature that was running around the room screaming “Theon! Theon! Theon! My name is Theon! Do you hear me, bastard? Theon! Not Reek! He’s dead! HE’S DEAD! I killed the bastard! Me! Theon! Theon! Theon!”  

Beltaine whispered a new prayer to the Great Other: “The Dragon Queen. Theon Greyjoy. Valar Morguhlis.” But before she could unsheathe Needle and cross him off her list, she heard a voice that instantly silenced the Turncloak.  

“So this is how you’d repay my generosity?  I’m so disappointed in you. You’ve been a very bad Reek. I’m going to have to punish you now,” said the Night’s King. _That’s why he never shattered! It wasn’t really dragonglass...this was just another one of the bastard’s games. Stupid turncloak._ Beltaine felt something as Dulrihan slowly rose from the ground, but whether it was relief or disappointment, she could not say. Beltaine decided that even though she would always hate the Night’s King, she was glad that he was still alive.  

“No! Th-that’s n-n-not possible! Y-You can’t b-b-be alive. I...I k-killed you. Seven Hells, I...I attacked him...stabbed you...I...I mean I...” Theon babbled as a yellow stream ran down his right leg.  

“What is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger. Don’t worry, I won’t kill you, we’ll just start all over again. We’ll get you right this time!” Dulrihan continued.  

“I...p-please...please don’t. M-m-mercy...I... No! I will not be Reek again. You’ll hurt me no matter what I do. I am Theon! My name is Theon Greyjoy! You have to know your name, b-b-bastard.” For a moment, the Night’s King simply stared at the Turncloak, his face twitching in anger.  

“You don’t want to be Reek anymore? It...it doesn’t matter. I don’t need you. Theon will die, but Reek...Reek will live on. Reek will never die. I’ll just make another one out of our new friend. Mayhaps I’ll make him eat you, one piece at a time. Would you like that? I think I’ll carve you up myself? Yes, I’d say you’re a meal fit for a Reek,” said Dulrihan, flaying knife in hand.

The wounded man who had been lying unconscious near the doors moaned and the Night’s King looked back at him for a moment. “I’ve done most of the work for you, sweet wife, but you’ll have to kill that one for me. I wouldn’t want to neglect poor Theon...”  

_He’s right. I should kill the man now before he recovers. Dulrihan can handle Theon Turncloak on his own_ , Beltaine thought to herself as she approached the wounded man. _He has a villain’s face,_ she decided. _He...he isn’t even worthy of becoming a Wight._ But the wounded man’s face didn’t look very evil up close and despite everything he had done to her pack – or tried to do – Beltaine found that she couldn’t help feeling sorry for him.  

_He doesn’t deserve to become another Reek...not really. I will give him mercy._ The Night’s Queen unsheathed Needle, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t bring herself to kill him. Suddenly, the man opened his eyes and a look of recognition appeared upon his face. The wounded man simply stared at her for what felt like an eternity before saying one word...a name: “Arya?”  

_That's not my name. I am Beltaine of Winterfell. Arya Stark is a wolf name and he has no right to speak to me of wolves. No one does!_ Beltaine glanced at Needle and saw in its blade the reflection of a memory, forgotten long ago. A memory of a man giving his younger sister a sword...a sword she named Needle. A memory of a time when it seemed as though the summer would never end. A memory of a time when a girl was happy. For a moment, it was as though they were standing right in front of her.  Suddenly, the memory began to fade away and it felt as though the man and his sister had turned around and began to walk away from her. She wanted to run after them...to beg the man and his sister to take her with them.  

“Wait! Don’t go! Come back,” she tried to shout, but the words stuck in her throat and she felt cold tears roll down her cheeks as the man and his sister faded away into nothingness. Don’t...don’t leave me...please...  Beltaine did not know where the name came from, why she said it, or how she knew that it was the man’s name. All she knew was that something buried deep inside of her answered the wounded man with another name.  

“Jon,” Arya whispered.  

_What’s happening?_ Beltaine chewed her lip nervously. _I have to kill him now...before it‘s too late._ She was about to plunge Needle into Jon’s chest when he began to speak to her.  

“Arya, I...I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to save you. I’m sorry for everything. If I’d gotten you out of Winterfell... You remembered my name; you must needs remember your own. Remember...who you are, Arya. You are my sister and you are a Stark of Winterfell. Remember who you are.”  

“No! I am not Arya! The Night’s King...he...he murdered her. My name is...Beltaine. Please...I...I have to...I’m sorry...I...” She had never seen anyone look half so sad as her brother did in that moment.  

“I wish I could have protected you from whatever that monster did to you,” Jon continued. “You don’t have to do this. I know you don’t want to kill me. I know you don’t want to hurt anyone. You’re not a monster like him. You are Arya of House Stark. If that monster is forcing you to kill me, then I...I forgive you. I know you don’t want to hurt me or anyone else. None of this is your fault. I should have protected you.” Suddenly, Needle began to glow and its handle grew warm in Beltaine’s hand. _I have to do it! There is no other way. He has to die!_

...  

The Night’s King had finally finished skinning the nearly unrecognizable body of what had once been Theon Greyjoy and licked Theon’s blood off each of his fingers, one by one. The moment the Night’s King turned around, Beltaine drove her sword through his heart. Needle – or whatever it was now – grew so hot that she had to let go of it as soon as she stuck Dulrihan with the pointy end. Once the sword was lodged inside of him, its blade turned into a flame as bright as dragon fire.    The Night’s King fell to his knees, howling in pain, before collapsing to the ground. He did not shatter this time either...or even burn. Instead, his whole body began to shake uncontrollably.  

“What...what did you do? Pull it out! It...it burns! Make it stop...please! P-Pull the sword out now, you...you f-fucking cunt,” shouted Dulrihan as he tried to grab her left foot. The Night’s Queen kicked his hand away and simply stared at him, her face as hard as stone. He could never be a true Sidhe...not really. He’s just some...thing.   _My brothers and sisters will never be safe with him leading our pack._   Beltaine noticed that the Night’s King’s body was slowly disintegrating.  

“I...I can’t feel my legs. Please, m-mercy,” he moaned as his eyes grew wide with fear...true fear. The kind of fear she’d seen in Theon Turncloak’s eyes when he realized that he hadn’t really killed the Night’s King. She continued to silently stare at him with her cold, blue eyes.  

“Wait...I...I...I can make you Arya again! I promise! Just pull the sword out and I’ll...it burns...p-please...help me. M-mercy...I...I...PLEASE,” he begged in a voice that seemed to age a thousand years.  

“Arya...she...she had finally found her home. The lone wolf had found her pack! She would have been happy if you hadn’t murdered her.  I won’t let you steal Arya or Jon or anyone else from me ever again,” the Night’s Queen seethed, her rage growing with every word. _I will not cry. I am a direwolf and direwolves don’t cry. The Night’s King murdered Arya, but he couldn’t kill her...not really. I don’t care if those were Arya’s stupid words. I am a direwolf!_

“PLEASE! HELP ME...I...I... PLEASE,” Dulrihan screamed.  

“I’m not going to save you, stupid. I hate you!”  

“But...but...if I die...you won’t know...my name...your list...you can’t...”  

“I don’t care about your stupid name. It doesn’t matter anymore. Do you know who you are? You’re not a Sidhe. You’re not the Night’s King. You’re not even the Bastard of Bolton. You’re no one. And soon, you will be nothing.” The monster disintegrated into a pile of ash and the sword’s light grew dimmer and dimmer until it looked like Needle again.  

_Will it kill me too if I pick it up?  It is still Needle_ , Beltaine decided. She picked up the sword and found that its handle grown as cold as winter. The Night’s Queen turned around and saw that Jon had managed to force himself off the floor...although he could only stand by leaning against the wall and was still losing blood.  

“Arya –”  

“That...That’s not my name. I’m not Arya of House Stark...not really. And no one should want me back besides. Not after the things that Arya...that I’ve done.”  

 “I don’t care. I don’t care what that monster did to you or made you do. You’re still my sister. You will always be my sister.  And whether you remember it or not, you are still a Stark of Winterfell. And you still have a family. Sansa and Rickon are alive. If Rickon survived, Bran might be alive too. Do you remember them?”  

“I think so...Bran...I remember that name, but the others...” _Jon could help me re-learn how be Arya. Maybe..._  

“Please...you have to trust me. No matter what the Others did to you, you’re not one of them. You’ll never be one of them. The Red Woman may know of some way to undo whatever they’ve done to you, but even if she doesn’t, I promise that I will find a way.”  

  _I...I could be Arya again. Jon still wants me back! He won’t care if my stitches are crooked or my stupid hair is all tangled in knots. Maybe the rest of them won’t care either. I don’t have to be the Night’s Queen...not really. But if I leave the Sidhe..._ Arya felt her forehead with her right hand and bit her lip to keep from crying. Her skin was as cold as death and she still had no heartbeat.  

_If I leave them, there will be a new Night’s King. The Long Night will come and they’ll kill my pack. I have to be the stupid Night’s Queen. I killed the Night’s King; the Sidhe will listen to me now. I could lead them somewhere safe. They will be my new pack and I will lead them somewhere far North of here, where there are no dragons to fear or names to hate...where they’ll never be able to hurt anyone else ever again. I will lead my pack back to the Land of Always Winter. Jon and the rest of my...the rest of Arya’s pack will finally be safe. I can’t be Arya. Arya Stark was a child of summer and I am the winter. I am Beltaine. I have to be or else..._

“Stay away,” she shouted.  Arya’s eyes had grown so watery that she could hardly see, but she willed away the tears.   _I...I will not cry.  I am a direwolf.  Direwolves don’t cry._  “I’ll kill you, I... Please don’t!  They...my pack will hate me if...  Promise that you won’t try to change me back,” she begged, her left arm shaking as she tried to point Needle at her brother. _I don’t have to let Arya of House Stark die...not really. I am a direwolf and won’t let the stupid Night’s King, the Sidhe, or anyone else steal her from me. Never! I just have to make Jon think she’s gone is all. I have to make him leave; it’s the only way to save him. Just like Nymeria..._  

“Arya –”  

“My name is Beltaine. Please, you don’t understand. It...it’s the only way. Promise you won’t try to change me back. Promise me...”  

“If it is the only way, then I...I...promise,” Jon replied sadly. “But we have to leave now! Come with me...if not to save yourself than for the sake of your family...please!” _The Sidhe can have Arya, but they can’t have Jon. I won’t let them hurt him! I couldn’t save mother and father or Robb or anyone else, but I can still save him. I just have to convince him to leave without me is all. Hard as stone!_ Arya looked at her brother and shook her head sadly.  

“I already have a family...my real family. The only one that I ever want to have.”  Jon opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, he passed out and collapsed in a pool of his own blood. Arya – _no...Beltaine...I have to be Beltaine_ – didn’t know where it came from, but a voice began speaking to her.  

“The Godswood. The Godswood. The Godswood.”  

“Who are you? Where are you,” she shouted.  

“The Godswood. The Godswood. The Godswood.”  

“I...I am a Sidhe. We hate those stupid weirwood trees,” Beltaine snapped.  

“Take...him...the Godswood,” the voice moaned.  

Somehow, Beltaine knew that the voice was trying to tell her that Jon would be safe if she took him to the weirwood trees. It didn’t seem to matter anymore where the voice was coming from or whose it was or even that she was supposed to hate weirwood trees. The Night’s King had already torn down most of the them, but there were still a few trees left. She carefully dragged Jon’s body all the way to what used to be the Godswood and gently laid it down next to a weirwood tree. _You’ll be safe here._

Beltaine did not know how they knew – it didn’t matter – her brothers and sisters all seemed to sense that she had killed the Night’s King. The moment she decided to lead them back to the Land of Always Winter, they began to retreat en masse. She summoned a snow storm so strong that the dragon could not pursue them and was forced to turn back as giant balls of ice rained down from the sky. The Night’s Queen silently thanked the Great Other when she saw that most of her pack was still alive as they began to make their way north.  

...  

Her new brothers and sisters did not hate her for killing the Night’s King. If anything, they seemed to admire her for it. _They hated him as much as I did_ , she realized. They only followed him because they feared him. They did not seem to fear Beltaine, but they followed her all the same.  

By the time that they reached the ruins of what had once been the Wall, she had forced herself to forget about Winterfell...about Arya’s pack...about the man who had once saved Arya of House Stark. In truth, even Arya herself was little more than a distant memory.   _The Great Other can have everything else, but he can’t have you,_ Beltaine decided, glancing at Needle.   _The lone wolf has found her pack_ , the Night’s Queen thought to herself with a smile.  She knew that she would never lose them again.  She was finally going home and for the first time that she could remember, Beltaine was happy.


	63. Bran

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaaack! I didn't forget about this, just been *really* busy IRL. I'm going to keep working on this (only one chapter left), but I can't promise when the next one will be done. Rest assured though, not only will it be completed, but eventually I'll get around to a second long story and a collection of one-shots (the RW through the eyes of a bunch of Freys plus Roose). Anyway, hope y'all enjoy the chapter!

When his brother finally woke up, Bran let the wind carry his voice as he had in the past when he spoke to Benjen and Arya...or whatever she was now.  By then, a snow storm had driven away the dragon as giant balls of ice reigned down from the sky.  Why the storm had spared the Godswood, Bran could not say.  Even after being driven from Winterfell, the beast continued to burn everything in its path, just as it had been doing ever since its rider fell to her death after being hit with an arrow.  

“Jon, it’s me, Bran.  I’m beyond the Wall and –”  

“How...I suppose at this point it doesn’t...doesn’t really matter, does it?  Not as though this is any stranger than every...everything else that’s happened.  It would seem that I’m going to die a second time, that has to be some sort of record,” Jon muttered bitterly.  The former Lord of Winterfell wheezed and began to cough up blood.  

“Jon, your wounds, they...they’re not so bad.  You may never be half as strong as you were, but you’ll live.  You can’t leave again.  Sansa and Rickon will need you and –”  

“I’m still a man of the Watch, Bran.  I suppose that wasn’t my brightest choice.”  

“You already died once.  That means you’re released from your vows.  And there isn’t even a Night’s Watch anymore besides.”  

“I...I should have stayed with Robb.”  

“You’d have died with him.”  

“I’d have died with him, aye.  I died once before, Bran, and death was not half so bad as this.”  The songs would sing of the late Dragon Queen, most like, but Jon and Bran both knew that the true victor of the Battle for the Dawn was the Night’s Queen...their sister.   _Arya was still in there.  I could have brought her back if it hadn’t taken me so long to find her.  Maybe if I had kept trying to talk to her after I found Benjen...maybe...  No...it’s too late.  I failed...I couldn’t save her_ , Bran thought to himself bitterly.  It hurt to think about what the Others had done to his sister, although not half so much as it did when she rejected her family.  

The Battle for the Dawn was over, but the victory – such as it was – had come at a heavy cost.  In truth, the Others hadn’t even been defeated.  They simply left for reasons that were unknown even to the Children of the Forest.  They could return any day if they wished and there was little that Bran or anyone else would be able to do to stop them. _Nuncle Benjen is dead, Jon wishes he were dead, and Arya will never return.  Does it even matter that the Night’s King died if the Others return tomorrow or a year from now?_    

“I hoped...I really hoped Arya would come back with me.  I thought I could still save her...somehow.  I couldn’t...I couldn’t bring her back.  That’s the second time I’ve failed her.”  

“You mustn't talk, Jon.  We need to find a way to get you help.”  

“Help...what good would that do?”  

“Don't talk like that!  We both know that your wounds are not that deep.  The Others are gone.  There's still a future –”  

“There is a future for all of you, Bran.  For Sansa, for Rickon, and for you.  I’ve lost so much...”  

“There is much and more that you can regain.”  

“Not Arya; she’s gone.  She came back for a moment...just long enough to save me from the Night’s King, but she's not coming back.  Once that monster was dead, she...went away.  Whatever the Other turned her into...it said they were the only family she ever wanted to have.  Arya’s gone...Val's not coming back either, nor are the rest.  Arya...Val...Ygritte, they’re all gone.  You may still have a future, Bran, but mine died the moment Arya called the Others her family.”  

“Jon...  Please, don't!”  

“My watch... my watch has ended, Bran.  My watch is over...”  Jon Stark closed his eyes and died a broken man.  Bran tried to tell himself that Jon would have chosen death even if their sister had come back, but it was no use.  It was plain that saving Arya – the person whom Jon had always loved more than anyone else in the world – would have restored the former Lord of Winterfell’s will to live.  In the end, Jon Stark died not of his wounds, but of a broken heart.  

...  

It took awhile for Bran to even process the sound of Meera, Hodor, and Leaf's voices.  He was lost in his memories...memories of a simpler time.  A time when Bran could still walk and his mother was always scolding him for climbing and his father mussed his hair.  A time when Jon, Theon, and Robb would tease him about what a terrible archer he’d make.  A time when Arya and him would use branches as swords and play in Winterfell’s Godswood.  

But those were only distant memories and everyone in them was gone besides.   _I’ll never see Sansa or Rickon again, even if they are still alive.  The Lannisters took father’s head, the Boltons murdered Robb and mother, Jon is dead, the Night’s King cut off Theon’s face, and Arya...she...she wants to be one of them._ _Jon was right.  What’s the point of living when everything you’ve ever loved is dead...or worse?_

Eventually, Bran saw Beltaine and the rest of the Sidhe pass by the cave.  Suddenly, she stopped and turned toward the front of the cave.  The Night’s Queen’s eyes grew watery and she smiled sadly at the cave — almost as though she could see him watching her.  Bran could have sworn that her eyes turned grey for a few seconds, but it was impossible to say for sure since she wiped them on her sleeve and they were as blue as ever when she lowered her arm.  The creature that had once been his sister finally made her way past the cave with her new family in tow.  The skeleton Weights that had surrounded the cave followed her too, ending the siege.  

...  

“Leaf,” Bran began once he finally returned to his own body, “could you or the Children...is there any way you can make my legs work again?”  

“I could...but I will not. You will never walk again.  You will never leave this cave again, Brandon of House Stark.”  

“But I –”  

“Your place is here now.  The Others may return someday.  Whoever you would see in your home does not matter.  We cannot let you leave...never.  I’m sorry, Brandon of House Stark, but this is your home now and it shall be for centuries until you bring a suitable heir as Bloodraven did.  If you do this, we will let you die once his training is complete.  Bloodraven knew what would happen when he summoned you.  He called you here and we stopped keeping him alive once you were ready to replace him.”  

“You murdered him?”  

“No, he wanted us to let him die.  He wanted to escape the loneliness, the pain, all the things that you feel right now.  Fear not Brandon of House Stark.  In time, you shall grow accustomed to them all and learn to live with them just as those before you did.”  

“Meera, I...I need you to do something for me.  Give me...give me the gift of mercy.”  

“I...I don’t under–”  

“PLEASE, kill me!  I can’t...I don’t want to live like this.  My father, my mother, Robb, Arya, everyone...they’re all dead.  Please, before they can stop you.”  Meera nodded and raced toward him.  

“You chose this path Brandon,” said Leaf in a flat, emotionless voice.  “I would not have harmed your friend, but her life is nothing against all those your presence here will save. Her death is on your –”  Bran warged into Summer and tackled Leaf to the ground.  

Meera thrust her dirk into his throat and he returned to his body.  As the world turned black and Bran felt her tears landing on his face, he managed to rasp out two words: “Thank you.”


	64. Sansa

Summer had come and yet the eldest surviving Stark could still feel the chill of the winter deep within her bones.  It had been three long years since the Others left the North.  No one knew why they left or where they had gone.  Even after the Others left the Riverlands, no one dared venture North of the Twins.  All the Northmen were dead, most like.  It was a year before anyone went as far North as Riverrun and there was no one left there.  Sansa shuddered.  

Even if anyone tried to re-enter the North, it was unlikely that they would’ve made it very far.  Several knights had already been devoured by the wolf packs that had made their home just south of the Twins.  There were even rumors that a dragon had burned down Winterfell and White Harbor.  There was a time when Sansa would have dismissed such stories, but after everything else that had already happened, it would’ve been more surprising if the rumors turned out not to be true.  

No one seemed to care when the six Kingdoms all split apart.  Dorne was the first to declare its independence and King Lyn Corbray of the Vale and Lord Mathias Rowan in the Reach soon followed suit.  Most of the Crownlander Lords swore fealty to the newly legitimized Edric Baratheon and his Regent, Lord Caffereen at Storm’s End.  Lord Tyrion ruled the Westerlands from Casterly Rock, although the Lannisters had never formally declared their independence.  In the end, Sansa had decided that she was glad he was still alive...even if he was a Lannister.   _He was the only one of them who never hurt me._

“Cat? Come *cough* come closer Cat,” wheezed the Blackfish from his bed.  Her grandnuncle had declared Harrenhal to be the new seat of House Tully, but he had fallen ill not long ago and it was plain that he would not live much longer.  Maester Perwyn had given him milk of the poppy so that her grandnuncle’s death would at least be a painless one.   _He thinks I’m mother..._   Seeing the Blackfish like this was too horrid a sight and Sansa left the room even as she knew that she would eventually regret leaving her grandnuncle to die alone.  

...  

“He’s going to die, isn’t he,” asked Rickon.  

“He...yes, the Maester says he doesn’t have long,” Sansa replied.   _No! No! No! Not again, please, not today._

  “I knew he’d die.  Grandnuncle is going to leave just like everyone else.  They all promised they’d come back or keep me safe, but they always die or disappear like Bran did.  He abandoned me, Sansa, just like father, mother, and everyone else.  The Blackfish promised he’d keep us safe, you heard him.  He lied!  Now he’ll die and there will be no one except Davos.  But he’ll die or run away too.  Everyone always does and...”   _Please don’t start crying._  

“I came back,” Sansa replied as gently as she could.  

“I guess so, b-but everyone else is gone. They all said they’d come back from King’s Landing and Bran said he...he promised he’d come back.”  

“I miss them too, Rickon.  They didn’t want to leave though.  I know that nothing would’ve made mother and father happier than to have lived to see how much you’ve grown.  No one ever abandoned you, I promise.  Our family and friends were taken from us, but they never forgot about us.  And as long as you remember them, they’ll never really be gone, I prom–” Rickon suddenly started wailing incoherently as tears flooded down his cheeks.   _Stop it!  Please stop!  Please!  What did I say?_ While Sansa loved her younger brother more than anyone else in the world, he was one of the most difficult children she had ever encountered...almost as stubborn as Arya.  The slightest wrong word could set him off for hours and he was always saying that everyone abandoned him.  He’d gotten even worse after his direwolf was killed for devouring a stableboy whom he had quarreled with several days before the attack.  There were even the most dreadful rumors that Rickon was warg who possessed the direwolf during the attack, but Sansa knew better.  That was simply too horrid to be true.   _They killed Shaggydog, just like father killed Lady..._

“Rickon?  Rickon, you have to stop crying.  What’s wrong?”  

“I...I c-c-can’t remember them S-Sansa.  They’re...you s-said they’d still be here in a way if...if I remembered, but I can’t remember everyone.  I only re-remember mother, father, and B-B-Bran, I...so it’s like I...I killed them?”  

“No, I didn’t mean anything like that.  Shh...it's not your fault. It will be okay, I promise.”  Rickon hugged her fiercely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming along for the ride, I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! I should have the first chapter or two of my next long story up by next weekend at the latest. The story will be called The Lone Wolf, so if you enjoyed this story, be sure to keep an eye out for that one :)


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